A Pale Jewel
by SilentRefrain
Summary: Sarah is having flashbacks of her time in the Labyrinth, but since her memories were stolen from her, these glimpses into her past are causing more harm than good... Can the Goblin King help her, or will he lose her forever? Jar/Sar Rated for later lemons
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth, not it's story-line, and most certainly not the ending. Eww... I would have been like 'wait, you want to keep the kid and give me everything I've ever dreamed of? All right, where do I sign?' But there you have it, just more proof that I own nothing except my own imagination... Thank you Jim Hensen for letting me play with your characters for a little while, I'll put them back. A little used and abused, but eh, they'll be there, and that's what counts, right?**

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**Sunlight:**

She was so tired that she ignored the prickling sensation rippling across her skin. She sighed, her pale hand twitching slightly. A strand of long, dark hair tickled her nose, and she squinted her sleep-closed eyes. In the world between 'awake' and 'asleep', she clung desperately to retain the dream fast escaping her.

She gown was silver and white, and it was fit for a princess. The leering faces around her caused her acute distress, but it was nothing when placed against the excitement welling up in her. _he_ was here… somewhere… She would catch glimpses of him, just past the loud, busty woman, or just behind the reveler with a long-nosed mask.

She knew his name, though she had never spoken it. A blush stole at her cheeks when she thought of the secrets she kept. In her dreams, she had called him by name, and he had smirked at her, those full lips tilted just so, his odd eyebrows rising toward his silver-gold hair.

Her hand twitched again, calling her back to the waking world. And still she clung to the dream, the half-forgotten images and imagined people like a sweet fruit she wanted to savor. When her eyes shot open, she looked around the room thoughtfully.

Brushing an impatient hand through her hair, Sarah looked at the small alarm clock on her dresser in consternation. She had woken up early. Again. Something behind the clock caught her attention, and a small frown marred her features, still softened by sleep and dreams.

Twirling in all her glory was a small princess wearing a white dress, her hair a small puff of dark fluff that made Sarah smile, despite the oddness of it's placement. It should have been in the bottom of a box at her Father's house, along with a thousand other memories that she discarded as she got older. It seemed odd here amongst her scripts, textbooks, and her new computer.

The melody finally clicked into place. It had been in her dream. She shut it quickly, wrapping her arms around her knees and inspecting the room painted gold in the fresh morning sunlight. She rocked slightly to and fro, her eyes darting around, her heart hammering in sudden fear. The anxiety was coming back. A cold chill broke out over her skin and she bit her lip, trying to fight the urge to scream.

For years she had been having these anxiety attacks, seemingly harmless at first, and progressively worse as she grew older. It started out as mild stage-fright, seemingly unrelated to anything else. It would just wash over her, and leave her disheartened. She quickly discarded her dreams of acting after that, despite the fact that it was like losing a limb to her.

But the anxiety didn't leave. As the years passed the anxiety grew.

Any time that she would look upon something simple, like her brother's stuffed toy Lancelot, she would get it, a tug on something dark and frightening inside her, just waiting to climb up and steal her away. At the choice of words her heart skipped a beat, as it had when she had first strung them together in the psychiatrists office.

It had been a long journey between mild stage fight and the event that drove her to seek mental help, and she recalled it as the sunlight crept up over the covers of her queen size bed.

She would get chills when she would read fantasy books, whenever something felt too real in those works of fiction. When she could see herself striding through a majestic, rock hewn palace. Whenever a knight talked to a Lady in sheer devotion. Whenever the villain offered the hero his dreams…

She began to pack them all away, her toy labyrinth, her stuffed animals, all of her books, and of course her goblin book-ends. Her music box had been the final thing to go into storage, and it hurt her almost physically to do it. With tender, longing hands she cradled it to her chest and wept. But it had been for the best. That was what she told herself as she taped the box shut.

She had looked up into the mirror then, trying to clear her face of the tears. And she let out a terrified, shrill scream when she saw a strange, craggy-featured creature staring back out at her. "What's wrong, Sarah?" His voice was concerned, and the tilt of his head was familiar. On his wrist he wore the plastic bracelet her mother had given to her three years ago, and beside it hung a wrought iron bit of junk attached to a colored string.

"Sarah?" Her silence seemed to make him uncomfortable. "You didn't call us, so I came to see if you was okay."

Another scream rent the air, and Sarah clenched her eyes closed tightly. There was a marching band in her head, a chorus of laughter, coarse and volatile. It was foreign and familiar and it hurt her to recall it. With it came memories of strange red-orange beasts tossing their heads and other body parts about, and the stench of something vile beyond comprehension.

When she opened her eyes there was a large red-brown beast beside the goblin man, his big brown eyes worried. "Sa-wah?" His child-like query tore at her. She looked into the mirror, her face pale, her green eyes growing darker as the pupil threatened to swallow the color entirely. Bubbles began to surround the pair, who were now talking to her frantically, pleading by their tone. The words were lost to her. There were bubbles…

She reached out towards the mirror, intent on popping them, drawn forward inexplicably. There was no fighting the urge that welled up in her to reach out and join them, to return--

There was banging on her bedroom door, but it went unnoticed. Her father's worried voice was ignored, discarded as something unimportant. His demands that she open the door went unheeded. Something more important tugged on the edges of her mind.

Return? Her mind's question was valid, but she refused to think about it and shatter the spell. She hadn't been anywhere, never been out of her own hometown. Where would she be returning to? Who would she be returning to? His eyes flashed in her mind, golden sunlight, like what poured into her window… and deep, thoughtful blue like the water of the pond in the park.

"No!" She screamed it, and the creatures that had been talking to her began to move away from the mirror, backing away from the madwoman no doubt. The cynical thoughts came unbidden, without consent or permission.

The bubbles began to pop, showering the odd pair on the other side of the mirror with silver dust. All but one of them popped, and Sarah watched it with morbid fascination as it moved closer to the thin barrier between dreams and reality. She heard the faint bump of class against glass, even through the hands pressed to her ears. It was a quiet sound, and she shouldn't have heard it even with her hands in her lap. And still she heard it, and was drawn forward.

She reached a hand out to the mirror, towards the bubble that wasn't a bubble at all. She saw every color in that sphere. That crystal. The word brought a shiver of terror to her slender frame. "Crystal…" It was a whispered plea, and hearing it out loud made her desperate.

Her well-manicured nails touched the surface first, making a sound like the crystal had. She shook her head, hair flying around her. No! It was right there, it was hers… _he_ had given it to her! It was hers! And in the crystal were a thousand promises, a thousand days and nights, years and years of them stretched out endlessly like the labyrinth had--

No!

Her mind rebelled against the word. Against the thought that felt like a memory. She tore at the great mirror as it rested between her dresser and the wall. It was too heavy for her, but it didn't matter. She would get to the other side one way or another! That crystal was hers…

The pounding on the other side of the door sounded heavier, and it strained in it's frame. Toby was crying somewhere, and that was as it should be. He had been crying that night as well…

She finally wrenched the mirror free, wrestling with it's weight. It pressed against her, the glass cold against the bare skin of her arms and throat. She couldn't see around it, and with a cry she stumbled back over the box she had just finished packing.

The heavy mirror fell forward, following her to the ground, and shattering into a thousand shards. She felt them cutting into her arms and the soft skin of her collarbones, like a thousand fairy bites, she recalled, ruefully.

The door crashed inward, and she didn't bother to look up. From somewhere far away she heard her father calling her name, and Karen's shrill screech of terror. Odd… he was right beside her, his voice shouldn't be so far away.

Ah, but she did hear a voice, one close to her, in fact. As close as skin, she thought with a hysterical giggle. The voice warmed her, even as she could feel her blood escaping her in running rivulets. She should be growing colder with it's loss, not warmer… And still she did feel warm, as though arms were enfolding her and holding her tightly.

Her father's face displeased her, covered in tears as he scrambled to lift the heavy mirror from her body. She didn't hear him anymore, and she didn't want to see him so upset. With very little effort she closed her eyes. And there _he_ was.

He was holding her, as he had held her that night in the crystal ballroom. She felt complete again, with that memory in place. It was beginning to make sense, as it hadn't in almost a year. And then he drew her closer, sharing his heat with her. It was like being held close to sunlight. She was sure it would consume her and reduce her to ashes if she stayed too long.

And then, on a heaving sigh, he spoke to her, no more than a breathy whisper. It barely stirred her hair as he held her so close. Clutching her broken, mortal body, he couldn't tell her any of the things he wished to. There was nothing he could do for her… She knew it, as though she could hear his thoughts.

"Ah, my precious Sarah…" And then the warmth fled her, and she woke, screaming, in a sterile, cold hospital bed, her arms and chest swathed in bandages.

The shrill ringing of her alarm clock woke Sarah from her musings, and she shook her head to deny them. The psychiatrist had told her to write her stories, to get them out of her head any way she could. And so she began filling the pages of her journals with tales of a fantastical place that couldn't possibly exist, separated from our world only by the thinnest of barriers. Human belief.

She stood and moved to her bookshelf, where three of her best-sellers sat. It seemed that people were as thrilled and mesmerized by that far-away dream place as she was. She found herself writing more and more, each day more consumed with the desire to share her tales with the world.

The phone rang, and she ignored it, as she had always wanted to do. She was on vacation, as of this morning. No more calls from her editor about deadlines or tours, or the next début. It was going to be a full month of rest and relaxation away from the creatures of her dreams and her nightmares. Whether they liked it or not.

She stuck her tongue out childishly at the rumpled sheets, the location of her most recent brush with them. It seemed even thousands of miles away from her old life, they would remain with her. And she was as far away as she could get, taking her necessities and the first flight out to the place she had always dreamed of going. Ireland.

Somewhere, unbeknown to her, The Goblins stirred. She was closer now, closer than she had been in almost six years. The veil was thinnest here in the mortal place called 'Ireland' where they told stories of the Fey, and their penchant for trickery. She had best take care, they thought, (separately and collectively,) and choose her right words. Or they would choose her, and then she would belong to their world forever.

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**Author's Note**

**Hello all, this is my first story on fanficiton, and I'm really hoping to get a lot of reviews to encourage me. Please tell me what you think, whether you have an account or not, it would mean a ton to me. Also, I'm looking for a beta, so please let me know if you are interested. I update regularly, so please check up on this story pretty often if you don't want to be left behind. Again, please review!**

**Sarah says you don't have to, but ignore her please! She is a little embarrassed about this chapter, but she'll pull through. Oh, and Jareth wants attention, so I'll stroke his ego and give him more time in the next chapter. Until next time,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: ****Do not own 'the Labyrinth', that belongs to Jim Hensen and some other lucky folks. Nor do I own David Bowie, but we can all dream. And some of us do. (Hehehe…)**

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_When last we saw our beloved Sarah she was just pulling herself out of an anxiety attack, bound and determined to shake her 'imaginary' companions from her memory. She is looking forward to her vacation in Ireland. And the goblins are looking forward to it, too…_

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Ayden's Áit:

Scrubbing her face with warm water had helped more than Sarah would have liked to admit, and she felt a lot better after her shower. The bathroom had been far more modern than she had at first suspected it would be, and it's brass fixtures became more dear to her in those few minutes than she liked to admit. She hadn't really considered what she would do if the little bed and bath hadn't had modern plumbing, but she doubted it would have gone well. She had never been a morning person on the best of days, but the thought of having to draw her own bath out of a pump-well was not a pretty one by any stretch of the imagination.

She was comforted by those cream walls, with their large borders of dark wood carved into large, entwining roses. It matched the little wash-table perfectly, and it was obvious that the entire room had been furnished at once, so unlike the rest of the cottage that Sarah had seen. Antiques were nestled in with new art pieces, modern plumbing and electricity mingled with candle light over dinner.

She tugged on a thick, dark emerald sweater, gazing out the bathroom door to the bay-window in her room. It was one of the only places for miles that had offered a balcony, and so she had taken it. The view was well worth it, even though it was slightly obscured by fog.

She tied her long, thick dark hair back out of reflex. _It was impractical to leave it down_, she told herself. She didn't want to go into the reasoning too deeply, the last thing she wanted was another trip back into her own memories. They were too much for her to sort through on any day. _It is not something to do on vacation, _she told herself soothingly.

Deciding that the fresh air would be good for her, Sarah left her room. She didn't care that the owner would look askance at her, and speak in her strange native tongue. The words were soothing, in a strange way. No, it was the curiosity that hurt.

The woman had asked her about a tour, about the sights, and Sarah had turned all offers aside. No, she would move around in silence for her stay here. It was what she wanted, what she preferred. It had been the look in Miss O'Fallon's matronly eyes at her final request that made Sarah wary of seeking the other woman out.

Cover or remove the mirrors.

Miss O'Fallon had complied, and the faded paper told the truth of her efforts. Here and there new wall-paper glared out, triumphant, free of it's mirror-induced exile. And the mirror in the bathroom and over the dresser had been covered in long, thick dark sheets.

The stares that she had received were a fair trade, Sarah decided, for her sanity. Better they think her crazy than the sight of her own reflection to drive her there truly.

Before she left the room she sent a final glare at the music box, seemingly innocent in it's place beside the small, antique looking alarm clock. The Princess in her beautiful gown stared out at the empty room long after Sarah closed the door, her small, painted eyes seeing that beyond the thick sheets Sir Didymus paced, his jaunty hat skewed, his posture rigid. He would have warned his Lady, had she but looked…

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There was music… there was always music, Jareth thought bitterly. Below him his subjects sang and danced, their tongues as agile as their feet. Their songs drifted up to him, as always, but he was no more interested in their merriment now than he had been last week, or the week before that. No, there was no music in his life now, none but the fading strains of a long forgotten waltz.

A feral snarl rent the air and he lashed out with his hand, shattering a prized gem to the floor with out a single care. It's amethyst depths reflected him in thousands, allowing him many faces to glare at simultaneously. Good. Maybe after he was done hating himself a thousand times over he would find peace. Though he truly and deeply doubted it.

He sighed, tossing his long hair over his shoulder and out of his way. Without effort he waved a hand, bringing the precious gem back together, making it whole again. He glared around the Study, looking for something to distract him. But it had grown obvious, maybe painfully so, that there was nothing for him here that he hadn't already destroyed and re-created.

Well, there were some things, but they were treasures, almost relics now.

Without consent his hand stole to the pendants upon his neck. The golden disc was as familiar as his own skin, a small piece of his power, a single drop of the life the labyrinth had been made of. His own mortal life. The newest pendant was still growing used to him, it's power vastly different from his own. Maybe that was why he had kept it, despite it all--

He laughed at his own folly. No… He knew why he had kept it, and it had nothing to do with magic, or the thirst to possess it. He caressed it slowly, feeling it even through his glove. The grooves were smoothed with time, still present even after six mortal years of his touch. Some nights he had lain awake in his chambers staring at it pensively, wondering what she was doing…

He knew only that she lived. He had held her as long as he could, sustained her with his warmth and his hope until mortal medicine could heal her. He had felt each sliver of lass for her, taken the pain for as long as his magic could, dimmed by the veils between worlds. It was all he could do for her. She wouldn't wish for anything, and so he could not offer it.

It was a lot like the enchantment cast over his Kingdom, he thought bitterly. It changed to fit the one who had been placed within. Even his subjects were transformed to the wisher's ideals. Even the King was changed to suit the desires of the challenger.

Sarah had made him somewhat human, and in doing so she lessened him, made him different than he was. Without her glamour cast upon him, his hair was silver and gold, a blend so complete that they were one and the same. His eyes were neither blue nor gold, but rather both, and a thousand other colors at once, shifting with his mercurial moods. His clothing took on a more practical nature, serviceable leather replaced sequins and sparkles. Ah, but what she hadn't changed mattered to him the most. Beneath the superficial physical changes, she hadn't changed the man he was.

His subjects hadn't been so lucky. They had been changed from their glorious, beautiful Elfin, Fey selves into Goblins. Ignorant, smelly, illiterate Goblins. And while he had laughed, they had never been so pleased at a challenger's departure. So pleased were they, in fact, that they seemed blind to their King's mourning.

The true goblins kept the portal between the mortal realm, and the realm that Jareth ruled. Many places were thin, the veils barely in place. True, they weakened with time, but the realms drifted as science grew more advanced, and Dreamers grew fewer and fewer. Though the veils were faltering, the threat was lower than ever, because those capable of finding the veils, and slipping through them, were dwindling.

Jareth dropped his hand from the peach pit strung round his neck, the white ribbon suddenly irritating his skin. He snatched his hand back, looking thoughtfully at the leather of his gloves. They were there to minimize sensation, as Fey were sensitive creatures, but they had failed to protect him from his disturbing memories. It seemed nothing could.

He took his bottle of wine over to the large window seat, and reclined, like a great bird spreading it's wings. He drank deeply, thinking of flight, and freedom… He could not touch her life again. The realization dragged him back from the brink of freedom, the owl within him shrieked in fury. Ah, but the edict of the High Council was final.

Unless Sarah wished, she was forever forbidden to him. As long as she was in the mortal realm, she was to live a mortal life.

He had pleaded with them, threatened them, made promises, offered challenges… and they had denied them all. They had taken Sarah's memories of that night, and they were shocked when she still touched them, still managed small slivers of recollection. But despite their failure to deny the Dreamer her memories of their world, they denied Jareth her world. No longer could he traverse it, as a man or an owl.

They said he couldn't be trusted to walk in her world without seeking her out. He couldn't be trusted. In a fit of rage, one his Owl fully appreciated and echoed, he pitched the entire bottle, end over end, into the roaring hearth.

He hated that the High Council had been right. He couldn't be trusted in her world. It was like offering mankind fire, and expecting them not to touch it, to seek it's warmth… It mattered not to Jareth, in the slightest, that he was sure to be burned.

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"Well good afternoon to ye, miss, and Fáilte go Éirinn." Miss O'Fallon smiled widely, and Sarah smiled back slowly. She had no clue what the woman had said to her, but it didn't sound like any curses or slurs should. In fact, the woman sounded genuinely pleased to see her.

Seeing Sarah's mild confusion the woman laughed. "I said Welcome to Ireland, Miss. Here we call her Éirinn, land of our fathers."

Sarah smiled at the large woman who was dusting paintings as they rested on the walls. Brilliant watercolors were next to black and white pictures of flowers, their glass shiny and hard in comparison to the soft canvas displayed by the other. And still, in this place, they fit together.

"Miss O'Fallon? I was looking for somewhere to go out for a bite to eat… I mean… I would take dinner here, but I want to see the village, and…" Sarah looked away, her voice failing in her embarrassment. She always managed to make a mess of things! She chided herself silently.

The other woman just laughed. "Oh, ye shouldn' fret so often. Well, there are many a place to go, but I'm thinking you'd like Ayden's Áit. It's a little pub about ten minutes walk through the village. Me nephew owns the place. Tell him Maeve sent ye and he will take good care with ye."

"Oh, thank you. I don't mean to be any trouble."

"None at all, lass. Feicfidh tú céard atá tú ag lorg ann, a chailleann. Tá mé cinnte de.*" Her eyes twinkled, and she nodded once before moving into another room to resume her dusting. Sarah, quite lost in translation, merely shook her head and headed out the door.

The day was bright and cold, and Sarah laughed a little to herself. Two of her least favorite things, rolled together. Determined to have a good day, she ignored the weather, and looked around. The little city was amazing, it's roofs weren't thatched any more, but they were shingled. The walls of the houses were made of stone and wood, not the poly-carbonate nonsense that was used in America. She knew that they were supposed to be safer, but she liked the appearance, and the feel of these cottages much more.

The streets were paved, though truth be told it was rough still. The sidewalks were cobblestones, and she smiled at them, cheered by the simplicity of it all. She noticed the change slowly, from homes to businesses. The streets got better, and there were more people. From very young to very old, and all that stemmed between, they all seemed occupied. No one wandered, like her, aimlessly. Or at least so it seemed to Sarah. She almost missed the pub, so entranced was she with the buildings and the inhabitants of the town.

The sign was plain over the door, the bright green paint plain as day against the polished cherry-wood background. Ayden's Áit, it proclaimed proudly, the print jaunty and bold, even though it looked like it had been done by a calligrapher's hand.

Sarah realized she must look like a fool standing outside staring up at the sign in full view through the darkened windows. She ducked her head and came into the smoky room, her eyes watering in response instantly. Seeing her distress someone called out in Gaelic, and the smoke began to clear.

She moved just in the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkened atmosphere. Dark and warm. She smiled to herself, and wondered what this place was like when it had a decent crowd. If it ever had a decent crowd. It just seemed empty now, like a delicious fruit with no one to pluck it…

Peach. It was there, right in front of her, an offering. A supplication. She only needed to reach out to take it, and all would be--

"Fáilte a Ayden's Áit." Sarah blinked, clearing her face of the frown. She had almost had something. It was obvious suddenly that the man in front of her had been speaking, and she had missed it. He laughed deep in his chest, and offered her a smile. Sarah knew that other women had pooled at his feet for less than that. He was handsome, and she doubted his appeal extended only to Americans.

Taking her silence and then her blush as ignorance of the language, he shook back his dark hair. His blue eyes laughed with her, rather than at her. She was too pretty to be lost in dreams so soon. No, not here in his pub. She deserved a few moments of stolen pleasure. She looked like she had few enough.

"I said welcome to Ayden's place. 'Tis the name of my pub." His voice was smooth and deep, and Sarah complained silently that she wasn't in the slightest bit attracted to him. She remained as broken as ever, attraction was something she never felt, not even when she wanted to.

"So that makes you Ayden? I'm Sarah…" To cover up the foolish question, Sarah plowed forward. "Maeve sent me. Told me to tell you she sent me."

Now that she could see better, she decided to scan her surroundings. It was an old habit.

The pub was larger than she had first suspected it to be. It had a long polished-oak bar with about fifteen stools, all of which were empty but two. A couple of young men sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own dreams. There was a large, empty place separating the bar from what seemed to be a stage. Her suspicions were confirmed. Upon further inspection she noted the piano, the drums, the odd guitar, and a flute of sorts. There were booths along the far wall, and tables scattered around the edges, each with faded covers tossed over them.

"Ah, Aunt Maeve… So then, Sarah, you're a tourist. American?"

Sarah looked back at the man, Ayden, as she nodded. "Is my accent so easy to place?"

He shook his head, pulling out a menu and offering it to her with a smile. "Not truly, I'm just good at placing Yanks." He paused, then met her eyes. "It wasn't a slur, just a term for Americans, I do promise." His smile was sincere, and so she decided to believe him.

A loud curse was heard from behind the bar, and Ayden shook his head. When a smattering of Gaelic and curses flowed for a moment, Ayden sighed.

"Well then Sarah, I'll have to be attending that problem. I'll be back in a few moments. Why don't you go over the menu and see what you find, eh?" With a charming smile he disappeared through a set of double doors into what she assumed was the kitchen.

Sarah looked down at the menu, and felt laughter welling up in her chest. The blasted thing was in that other language too. So much for her cravings for a cheeseburger and a Coke.

An older man approached the bar, his hair gone grey, his proud carriage slightly bent, but not diminished. His eyes were sharp, silver blue, and they cut into Sarah where she stood. She hadn't paid much attention to him as he had sat in a booth by himself. He didn't look dangerous, but Sarah still fought the urge to run. There was something familiar about him, something she couldn't place.

"Well… isn't that interesting." His English was almost perfect, only a hint of the brogue remained as he seated himself beside her. "Never seen one taken by the Fey returned to our world again. And yet here you sit."

Sarah wanted to protest, but something halted her tongue. _Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the goblin city…_

"Now leave her be, Damon." Ayden's teasing warning stopped the sentence in it's middle, and Sarah felt bereft. "I don't think the lass would care for one of your tales."

"But I would. I'm a writer in America… I love stories."

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**Author's Note:**

***You'll find what you're looking for there, miss. I'm sure of it.**

**Special thanks to ChilaliSnowbird for the interesting and encouraging review, this chapter is up partially to say thank you for actually reviewing. And I agree with you opinion about ego stroking. **

**All right, there's chapter two, out and complete. I am still looking for a beta, but as time goes on I feel the need less and less… lol… Again, please review, because if you don't tell me what you think and what you want there is very little chance I'll add it on my own.**

**Jareth is still a little testy. He wants me to just get the good part. Oh well, sacrifices must be made for good storyline developments. Until next time**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the plot or the characters from 'the Labyrinth', no matter how many stars I wish on. Damn Disney… lying so-and-so fairy… Oh, and now I have to tell you I don't own Disney and/or the fairy either...**

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_In the last chapter the Goblin King seemed rather upset about Sarah's interference in his life, and about the High Council's interference in his own. I suppose the Goblin King hates when the rules are not his to make and break at will… When we last left little Sarah she was enjoying the old-world charm of a small Irish town, and trying her best to decipher Gaelic terms. A strange man approached her and offered her a tale. And, wistful thing that she still is, Sarah agreed to hear it, despite the protestations of her would-be guardian._

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**Fairy Rings:**

His blue eyes, glacial and keen, focused on her pale face, and he let out a chortling laugh. "What do you know of Fairy Rings?"

Behind the bar Ayden lifted his eyes to the roof, and let out a silent prayer. For what Sarah didn't know, either a short tale or some other form of divine intervention most likely. Maybe encouraging the old man to tell his story hadn't been the brightest thing to do…

She shook her head, a strand of her long hair slipping from it's hastily-made confines. "Is it on the menu?" Ayden's laugh made her blush and scowl at the floor. Apparently it was not.

The old man shook his head once, sharply. "No Lass, it is not on the menu." His mocking tone would have hurt had she not already been imagining ringing Ayden's neck. Her fury allowed her to ignore the old man for just long enough that it passed without remark. How was she expected to know anything about Fairy rings? She was a fiction writer for goodness sake, and a hungry one at that!

"Well, that is fine and well, lass, as Mickie Finnegan was unaware as well. His blood was as green as the high grass in the wash, and so no one expected him to be without the knowledge. They all assumed that he knew not to go out into the woods and step within the ring of mushrooms."

His liver-spotted hands went to the front of his coat, where a pipe peeked out. Ah, so Sarah had found the source of the smoke earlier. With just a slight hesitation the old man dropped his hand again.

"Mickie was in a foul mood that day, as the woman he had chosen to wed was asked by another. He left the town, quite certain that his life was not worth living. In fact, he was probably in search of something wild enough to end his anger and his hurt. He thought he had loved the lass, you see.

"But destiny is wily, lass, and it had plans for young, heartbroken Mickie. As he went madly to and fro in the forest, just outside the village there," his hands gestured toward the windows, but in no discernable direction. "He began to hear weeping. He was about to go the opposite direction when he noticed something about the sobs. They were like water running from a waterfall, they were like the wind through the fields. And he could no longer turn away from her.

"It was a lass he found in the clearing, and when he stepped through into it, she turned to face him. He fell deeply and instantly into true love. It made the feelings he had thought to possess for the other woman seem callow and false. Indeed that was love, that feeling coursing through him for this beautiful stranger he had never seen or spoken to before.

"Her hair was like the sunshine, pure and golden. It was long, and fell in gentle waves down her pale, elegant back. Her features were sharp, keen with interest and perhaps something similar to what Mickie himself felt. It was her eyes though, lass, that lured him into the ring of mushrooms, her eyes that bade him kneel beside her and offer his handkerchief to stem the flow of her tears."

Sarah noticed that as he spoke, the old man relaxed more and more, and his firm grasp on English and the proper pronunciation of every syllable began to fail him. Ayden, who had heard this tale more than once, sighed and turned back to the end of the bar where the two young men were evidently attempting to drown their sorrows.

_Maybe they should take a walk in the forest. Seemed to work for Mickie…_

More to distract herself than to truly know, Sarah asked the first thing that came to her mind. "And what color were these eyes that capture Mickie heart and soul?" Her laughter died at his answer, and she listened in silence for a long time after.

"Amber, like liquid, molten sunlight.

"…And they did as lovers oft do, there without shame before any who cared to wander the woods. He couldn't know it then, but he had just made love with a Fey, one of those that dwell under the hill, beneath the fairy ring, in the Fey Kingdom. She left him that morning in the sunlight, vowing to him that he would see her again, and soon! 'Twas the only way Mickie would let her go, that vow.

"Several months passed, and then several more. It was a full year before Mickie began to lose faith in his true love, and her vow. When separated from the one that completes you, each second is an hour, each hour a month… the time is painful and endless." He reached for his pocket and his pipe again, cursing in that strange language in what might have passed for a whisper.

"It was a cold winter's day when there came a knock upon his door. Thinking it a beggar Mickie rose in frustration, with a scowl. What lay on his doorstep was far more astounding than any beggar could have ever been, and Mickie--"

"A child." Sarah spoke confidently, unsure how she knew. And without questioning it, the old man… Duncan… gave her a nod.

"'Twas the only remembrance he had of the lovely maid whom he had claimed as his own. The babe was a lovely bairn, a lass with hair as golden as the sunlight and as pale as the moonlight. One eye was blue, like his, the other true and pure amber. And he loved her more than his own life.

"_There's such a sad love, deep in your eyes…" And his were so close to hers as they danced… those eyes that held her captive. One blue, like the thoughtful depths of the ocean, and the other like liquid, molten sunlight--_

She fought the urge to curl into fetal position, listening to the old man, drowning out the image with all of her strength.

"He was a coarse man, Mickie was. He lived on but the simple coin he earned as a blacksmith, and in that rare time of peace his employ was not swords or armor, but simple horseshoes. It worked well enough to clothe and feed one man, but not a man and a girl-child, one who was in need of constant attention and food. He was unable to give her all she desired, and he wept bitter tears that any child of his love should be raised so."

"But he did the best he could. It isn't fair for anyone to think badly of him, even himself." Sarah wanted to kick herself. She couldn't recall the last time she had said something 'wasn't fair', but it was surely not within the last five years.

Duncan chuckled, shaking his head in mirth, those icy eyes no longer so imposing or frightening. "No one would ever say so, as Mickie showed his love for his young daughter every minute of every day. She came to work with him in the forge, despite his protests. She learned the value of hard work, and she learned that those beautiful women in town who worked not a day and were served on high were not as beautiful within as her father, coarse and raw, was. They were rude, and haughty.

"She learned that true worth was measured by the work you put forth, and the love you showed those you held dear. All the riches in the world could make a poor man rich, but they could not make him any happier where it truly mattered."

He paused so long that Sarah thought him finished, and smiled. Just as she was going to compliment his abilities as a story-teller, he reached for his pipe and stopped himself again. And his tale continued.

"Well one day, working with her father, the beautiful young woman--for she had indeed grown into a young woman of almost twenty winters--was injured. Never before had she been cut or bruised, and any minor injuries she had received in the cottage healed almost before they had been noticed. This injury, however, was fairly deep. A nail had pierced the soft slippers she had worn, and buried itself within her pale, dainty heel.

"It might have healed well enough, as the others had, but for the iron within the nail. Few enough know it, lass, but the Fey are deathly weak around iron. 'Tis the only metal that can bind them, the only weapon that can strike them down. And she was half-fey, this beloved daughter of Mickie the smith."

Ayden returned for but a moment before he was gone again, and Sarah was amazed at the food he had placed before her. Piled high on fried potatoes was cheese and corned beef and sour-cream. Her mouth watered, and she ate a good deal before she even thought to question what it was called, or the cost. She decided it didn't matter. She was too content to care, eating and listening to the story that had captured her attention.

"The village doctor came and removed the nail, but he could not stop the bleeding, and the doctor felt the deepest shame at the fact. All in the village mourned, because the girl was kind to them always, courteous to them as they passed, and she was as fair as moonlight and as bright and true as the very sun in the sky. They knew that she would soon die.

"He came then, the King of the Fey. He knelt at the young woman's feet, and closed the wound there by simply passing his hand over the hole." Sarah bit her lip, fighting the questions. He would tell her soon enough…

* * *

A knock sounded at his chamber door, and Jareth cursed under his breath. It had grown cold over the last few hours, the fire having been doused beneath the wine. He had stared up at the night sky for countless hours, counted the stars twice over. He knew them all, he had named them once, as a child, and all night through he had struggled to recall those names. Anything to keep him mind from her.

Sarah.

"What do you want?" Only one would dare knock on his chamber door, and Jareth was in no mood to speak with the little fool.

"S-sire?" The voice was timid, and feminine. Well, surprises were abound this night.

"Enter." He had spoken in curiosity, without realizing it. Deciding to make the best of the encounter, Jareth adopted the best eat-you-alive-and-make-you-like-it smile he possessed.

She was thin and golden, as so many of his people were. The Fey were either dark and mysterious-looking or golden and innocent in appearance. Few to none met between those worlds. This servant was no different. He chided himself for wishing, even for a second, for pure green eyes lit up in challenge, in even the merest moment's defiance…

She blushed to the tips of her toes when she broke protocal and looked at her king's face. The man could lead a Devoted to sin, she thought longingly. Her words were stuttered and rushed, so discomforted was she by his presence.

"A m-member of the H-high Council is h-here to see y-you, Your Majesty." The last word ended on a squeak, and Jareth could see her shaking from across the tower room.

He was so thoroughly disgusted at her fear of him that he dismissed her out of hand. And of course she was gone before he could halt her and question her about the reasons for their arrival. Blast and be-damn his temper!

His glare met it's twin in the mirror resting on his wall. It was the object he had broken most since his forced stay in the Underground. His hair was soft, and it spilled around him like a golden-silver halo. His eyes shifted from blackest fury to almost crimson in his blood-lust. The Owl within him desired the hunt and the kill. When presented with his mouse-of-a-servant, it made the Owl all the more persistent,

What was wrong with him? He smoothed his gloved hands down the front of his chest slowly, covering the expanse of his pectoral muscles, and then abdominal. They were firm and toned, and he had thought himself pleasing in form… The trailing hand stopped at his hip, giving him an arrogant appeal. He _knew_ it did. Knowing that he was alluring only made him more desirable.

And yet she turned away, his Precious One, the only one that had ever mattered. Damn her… And Damn the High Council for punishing him for his father's mistakes!

That last curse reminded him that it's recipient--or at least one of the members thereof--were just down stairs waiting for him.

He took the steps at a steady, even pace. It was far better in his mind to keep the High Council on their toes, lest they think they had you at their feet. All Fey were tricksters, players of jests, and lovers of fine things. But they saw weakness and destroyed it. Crushed it like the cobblestones beneath their feet, with little to no care for those that suffered their wrath. The weak were meant to submit, or be destroyed. There could be no other way.

When Jareth saw the man in his castle he felt strange, was fury supposed to come so swiftly after it had been pushed back? Ah, but it had, whether it was supposed to or not. "Greetings Father."

"And to you, _Goblin King._" The other man smiled, his eyes blue with mirth. The title was spoken mockingly, reminding Jareth of the reason. He was not the Goblin King, he was King of the Fey, king of those beneath the fairy rings, king of those who ventured out and never found their way home.

But it had been the Goblin King Sarah desired to quest against, and Goblins she had sought to best. And so she had been given goblins. The complaints had rolled in for the entire length of her quest. They were absurd things, like a special brush for their fur, and polish for their hooves and horns. They asked these things of their king in a serious tone. He had made them coarse and beastly, the least he could give them in return was proper grooming tools.

"I doubt you came to speak to me about _her_. It seemed that subject was quite exhausted when last I spoke to the High Council about--"

Jareth was stopped in the middle of his sentence. "Things change." Galen's eyes were no longer blue, no, they were amber. Molten, bottomless amber. It was rare to see a Fey's eyes that hue, that sign of sheer and utter sadness. Jareth had only seen it before when Galen spoke of his love, Jareth's mother. Miranda.

He stood entirely still, his eyes studying Galen, his head tilted slightly in contemplation, his own eyes reflecting a gentle silver. It was a mask that he was comfortable wearing.

"The High Council has allowed you to pursue her, so long as she is within the reach of the fairy ring. So long as she is in Éire you may attempt to coerce her into returning." His voice was emotionless, and flat. It was the same task Galen had failed at so many years ago.

"She is in Ireland?"

But Jareth needed no confirmation. She had been pulling at his senses for too long now for him to question at it. No, she was walking almost above him now, he could almost see her. Almost feel her warmth. Soon, he promised himself, soon…

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**All right I have to give credit to a reviewer of mine for that bit of inspiration about the Goblin's requests, because honestly I couldn't resist it. It was too perfect. I had a few reviews, and was glad to be added to some favorite's list, but I would die for more reviews. Honestly. And I am still looking for a beta, though no one has complained about my story development or any OOC-ness from Sarah or Jareth. I really hope you are enjoying the old man's tale, cause it hit me and the shower and I had to scramble out with soap all over the place and write it all down...My muses love to push me randomly at dawn…. Jerks.**

**Well, Sarah can't wait to hear the rest of the story, and I think Jareth is rather impatient to get Aboveground again, so I'll be working on the fourth chapter in just a few minutes. **

**--Chaotic Reverie**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: ****I own nothing that you would be interested in, I promise. Certainly not 'the Labyrinth', cause Jim Hensen and tons of other lucky folks do. I only have my imagination, and sometimes that proves too interesting on its own.**

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_In the last chapter we left Jareth en route to the mortal realm after a rather telling encounter with his father, a member of the High Council. Sarah, on the other hand, is hearing a rather entrancing tale about the love of a Fey and a mortal, and how it forever changed both worlds._

* * *

**A Pale Jewel:**

"He came then, the King of the Fey. He knelt at the young woman's feet, and closed the wound there by simply passing his hand over the hole." Sarah bit her lip, fighting the questions. He would tell her soon enough…

Ayden came by, laughing, and broke her almost-trance. "I see ye were hungry after all, miss Sarah." His teasing wink was met with a blush, but he felt the difference in his soul. She was embarrassed at her hunger, not blushing at his attention. Though his male vanity was slightly pricked, he knew it was probably for the best.

That Yank with eyes like the deepest forest shadow was not for him. Her heart lay elsewhere, and he would be wasting time trying to win it for himself. He swept away the empty dish, slightly saddened to realize that she wasn't going to notice him taking his leave, either. Duncan's tale was told well, he admitted, but it was something else that had this American Miss so deeply enthralled.

"Are you still interested in my story, lass?" The old man's question made Sarah smile brilliantly. She didn't notice Ayden leave, but she did notice the missing plate with no little regret.

"I am very, very interested. I feel like I know it, somewhere deep down." And a part of her longed to hear the rest. It was like the need of a flute to play, or a dancer to dance. The strains of a waltz played in her head, and her breath sped up irregularly. She closed her eyes, warding off the impending panic attack. It released her from it's clutches, but slowly, and with great reluctance.

"Well then, cailín, I shall not keep you waiting." He reached for his pipe, frowned, and continued.

"Her father knew almost instantly that the man was not of their world. He knew in that moment, more than any other, that his lost love was of the same. Her ears had been pointed too, as this man's were. Her hair had been as full, though his was as dark as a raven's wing in the depth of night, so black it was almost blue. As blue as the strange man's eyes.

"'I am the Fey King, and my debt is served. She shall live.' As the man thought to rise and leave, the young woman reached out to him and smiled, softly. Her eyes were fever bright, one gold, the other blue, and both were focused on the king of the Fey with something akin to idol worship. For, you see, she loved him as desperately and innocently as her father had loved her mother. Instantly and truly.

"And the king looked upon her as well, and saw more than a burden he was forced to accept, more than a sick little half-breed. She asked him softly how he had come, and ever the one for a tale, and with a keen eye for the theatrical, he launched into the tale.

"It was a cruel game his servant had played with him. She had hidden all of his buttons from him, every single one, from all of his garments. She would give them all to him, one by one, so long as he granted her a boon in return. At first they were simple things, like the ability to walk Aboveground so long as she remained within the fairy ring.

"At the mention of this Mickie's heart raced, and he knew that this King's servant was his on dear love, so long separated from him. But the King's tale was not through. He could have simply conjured more, he told them, but it was the principal of the matter that counted. And with the second button she had made him vow that he would not renege of a promise that he was capable of granting. With the third she made him promise to be a king of his word, worth his honor, and play the game she had created for him. The king's eyes glittered dangerously, and rather than being frightened by the King of the Fey, the young maiden laid her hand upon his sleeve to still his wrath.

The next wish, he told them, was that she could walk outside the ring. But it was not within his power to allow such, so she was saddened. It was a long time before she approached him again, and she was long absent from his presence. When again she approached him, she bore a babe, a beautiful girl child. 'Now, children are precious in the Underground, in my kingdom and in all of the others as well. Fey can only bare children out of love, and the Fey seldom give all of themselves to another person entirely, so capricious and wild are their natures. She wished to take her child to it's father, in the Aboveground. And when I tried to refuse, she reminded me of my vow, to honor any promise within my power.'

"The bitterness in his voice was almost visible, and Mickie flinched. The young woman simply watched him with interest. 'And so I let her take her child into a world where it would grow and age, and fall prey to the whims of mortal men and women.' And he continued, pressing onwards, truly getting riled with his tale. She had beaten him at a game so simple that it was brilliant.

"'And once more she fled from me, knowing that my wrath would be sharp, and my vengeance swift. She called out to me only once more, on her deathbed but a sunset past.' Mickie cried out, tears gathering in his eyes. 'you saved her, did you not? She asked for you to save her?' But the king shook his head. 'No. She knew that it was one thing I could not give her. She had a far different request for me. She asked me to cure her daughter, the light of her life. She knew not what ailed you,' he said, speaking to the young woman, 'but only that you needed me.'"

Sarah felt the sadness of Mickie, the loss of his love. And she felt the blind love and devotion of the young half-Fey. And even the echo of the kings anger overlapped. She knew that he would fight the urge to de her will, the will of one that had bested him. _My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is great…_

"The King of the Fey left them then, with their questions and their confusion. It was not his concern, he told himself angrily. He should never have submitted to his servant's will. But he had all of his buttons back now, he thought with a malicious smile. She had offered him all of his lost buttons in exchange for her daughter's life. Something inside the king, however, objected that the beautiful creature was worth far more than a handful of buttons. More than a handful of stars…

"He became obsessed with her, the girl he had been forced to attend to. Her smile was like sunlight spilling over his sill. Her eyes were as all mixed-bloods in the Aboveground, and he could already see the colors in them shifting, changing in joy, surprise, love… It enraged him, this emotion he felt for her. And so he let some five mortal years pass before he approached her again.

"He strode, bold as brass, to her door, and knocked. She came to the door, covered in ash and wearing the thick gloves of her trade. He told her he had chosen her as his queen, and she should be honored. When he demanded that she follow him back to his kingdom, she laughed at him. Her laughter meant the world to him, even as his was shattering. His wrath was merciless. He glared at her and told her she was dead to her mother's people, that she should be honored that he allowed her to live at all. And the entire time he walked back to his fairy ring, the king heard her soft, beautiful laughter mocking him."

"But you said she loved him!" Sarah didn't realize how much she had been involved in the story until her outburst overwhelmed her. The old man laughed again, and someone called out to him in good natured play.

"Cad a rá leat chun an cailín a dhéanamh léi glaoch amach go bhfuil slí Duncan*?"

"Nothing time will not teach you, lad," Came Duncan's reply. He stilled his laughter before replying to Sarah. "She did love him, but he offered her nothing. A kingdom meant nothing to her, nothing at all. She wanted so little, and he refused to give it to her. More the fool, him."

"But she could have made him love her in time, I'm sure of it."

He raised thick bushy brows. "You sound so sure, lass… Ah, but there is more to the tale. Do you wish to hear it? Even if it does not end well?" Sarah nodded but she wasn't sure if it was true. "Well the king waited another year before he came to her again, this time thinking about her reaction. He knew that women liked gifts, and so he brought with him a dozen beautiful gems. Pale emeralds, deep sapphires, fiery rubies…

"When she opened the door her eyes filled with tears. She smiled at him, hoping that he would proclaim his love, begging him to speak of his affection. He did not. He offered her the gems and said that those and more would be hers, if she would but wed him and rule his kingdom with her. She shook he head sadly. 'I am to be wed,' said she, 'and only one thing could keep me with ye.' The king demanded to know what more he could offer her. And she fled from his sight, weeping, shutting the door to him firmly. Forgotten, the gems spilled out upon the earth and became flowers.

"They would bloom there still." Sarah smiled, the touch of theatrical appealing to her childish pleasure. Oh, what a best-selling fiction story this would have been…

"He raged for three years this time, hating mortals in general, blaming them for her capricious nature and demanding ways. When he returned to her again it was with several stones from his castle, heavy pieces of marble that he lifted with no strain. For Fey are rather powerful creatures, ones of magic and mysteries unknown to mankind.

"She began taking walks in the woods to see the fairy ring, and he watched her every time, longingly. He came to her one night, and emotion overwhelmed them. They made love there, with no one to suspect what they had done. It was in love they came together, and in joy. For each there was only the other. When he departed it was with the ease Fey usually approached such things, though even something about it had touched him in a strange and personal way it never had before.

"When he knocked on that door again, she was thick with child. 'My Father has died,' she told him, 'and my place is here with the family I have made. The only ones who love me.' Her hand rested on her bairn, the child within her womb. The child that they had made together.

"The Fey King grew furious at the sight. _He_ loved her! Why did the fool not see? And as he left the dropped the stones one by one 'til he reached her garden gate, slamming it shut in his wake. The marble stones cracked as they hit the earth, making stones to guide one to or from the only haven love had. When he felt a tug, one day some months later, he looked into her realm to see what could have cause such a feeling. She had delivered her child, a boy, with silver-gold hair, and eyes that marked a Fey child. His ears were pointed, and his face was so much like his own that the King of the Fey felt his heart break. 'Twas his son, his heir, resting in his mother's arms.

"He went to her once more, demanding that she marry him and be his queen, and give their son the proper place he deserved. And she turned away, sobbing at the loss of him. He had not learned, not changed at all, not for everything that had happened to her. And she denied him once more. And so the Fey King did what they Fey do best. He sent the Goblins, the watchers that sit between their world and ours, to replace his son with a changeling goblin, one that would resemble his son, but not be his son. The little boy, his heir, was brought back to the Underground with the Fey King.

"She discovered the loss right away. This child was loud and crude and never slept quietly, as her own son had. This creature was not her son, but a changeling. She tried to tell others, tried to plead with them to help her get her little boy back. He husband simply laughed at her efforts, telling her that demon seed always bred true. It was no son of his, this foul little beast. For in all their wedded years she had never once let him touch her."

She felt her heart tearing in two, knew the anguish the woman must have felt. _I wish the Goblin King would come and take you away-- right now!_

Sarah's eyes began to force themselves closed, and her breathing became shallow. It was there, it was almost upon her. It was so close… Her own green eyes staring into the mirror, Toby's beanie upon her own head, she recalled that, she had been rehearsing a play… she thought… but-- Sharp, blinding pain seared through her head, making her cry out.

Ayden's hand was on her shoulder instantly, and when she opened her eyes she saw old man Duncan looking at her oddly as well. "Are ye well, lass?" Ayden's deep voice was concerned. Sometime between the middle of his tale and now the pub had begun to gather customers, and now there were some thirty-some faces looking around, some even looking upon her… And it set off the stage fright. She shook her head, willing the nausea down.

"I'm fine, I just… I just want to know how it ends. Please?"

Her plea made Duncan continue, though he thought she had heard enough. More than enough.

"The woman fled the village, stumbling around in search of the fairy ring. But the Fey King knew his love's determination, and he set many trials for her." _Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered…_ It echoed in hr mind, her own voice, trapped in a thin, fragile silver bubble… not a bubble, her mind amended though she hurt too badly to grasp the final thread and unwind the final tapestry that covered the window to the truth.

"She found him, didn't she?" Her voice was very small.

"No, she wandered in search of him, too afraid to enter his kingdom, too afraid to fall under his rule. But he found her. When she was old and as bent as a sapling tree, he found her. For, being in the mortal realm had aged her as one, and it was keen loss and regret she saw in his eyes. She was weak, and knew she was dying. And she knew that he had either come to gloat over his victory, or he had come to make her the same offer he had always made to her.

"She knew she didn't have the strength to turn him away now, in her final hours. When he dropped to a knee, she wept, bitter, bitter tears of regret and loss. 'I have come to you, with only myself to offer. And my love.' His voice, deep and true, was all she could have ever desired. And se spoke her last words, from her heart. 'I will have it. And you will have my love, the love of a feeble, dying woman. The woman that loved you so many years ago when first I saw your face. I have never let another touch me, not even the man I pledged myself to. The last thing I will see in this world is your eyes, my love. Mo chroi.'

"His heart shattered, seeing her thus. He held her close to his heart, where she had always been. She had called him her heart, and it was only fitting that it would beat eternally, like his own heart. And when the final breath left her body he wept, and carried her with him to his kingdom where he and their son had her laid to rest. Her tomb was pure ivory, the finest funeral ever held. No one knew her but him, and so Galen the Fey King spoke of her. It was a lament of love lost, a love pure and true and _right_.

"'Rest well, my Miranda', the Fey King whispered, letting silent tears fall.

"Their son watched, somewhat impassive. After all, she had never found him. She was too afraid to come for him. She had loved and feared his father too much to venture into his realm."

"_Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave…" _Sarah whispered the words, words she knew she had heard before. Words spoken to her that she couldn't recall hearing. The old man blinked twice, slowly, and she could tell that he knew what she was talking about. It was a flash in his keen eyes.

"That is it, that is it precisely. How did you know?"

He had worn blue velvet. The touch of it under her palm sent shivers down her back. Oh, this was like a dream, all of it! She didn't understand the rushed sense of mistrust she felt. Surely she was mistaken. She wanted nothing more than to live here, to make this man's arms her home. His voice was soothing, even as it stirred unknown passions within her. Was this what her friends were talking about? Was this desire? He turned those mesmerizing eyes on her, and Sarah knew it. She knew what she felt for this man. She--

"I don't know." And sadly, her moment of clarity faded, and her words were true. She really didn't know.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

***What did you say to the lass to make her call out that way Duncan?**

**I think this is going to be my update pattern. I'll write two chapters, wait a few days, and then write a couple more. I really hope you liked the tale of Jareth's mother and father, it hit me and it wouldn't let go. Not that I really minded. **

**Jareth is in a bit of a state… He didn't appear at all in this chapter, and I talked about his parents. Sore subject there. Oh well, King tight-pants will live. Oops… I think he heard me, he's sulking. Might take a while to coax him out of hiding… but I think I'm up for it. All right, please don't forget to review! Jareth isn't the only one with vanity issues!!**

**--Chaotic Reverie**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own the movie the Labyrinth, and I don't own David Bowie or Jennifer Conolly. I just shamelessly **_**borrow**_** their images for my works of fiction. Lucky Jim Hensen Company…**

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_In the little pub in the small Irish town, Sarah was hearing a rather large tale. The old man telling it seems to know more than he is saying, and that does not bode well for Sarah. Unbeknown to our lovely heroine, the Goblin King had made his way into her world._

* * *

**The Wager:**

Jareth stood in the little clearing with a clear frown of disapproval on his chiseled features. When he had finished speaking to the Goblins, (and what a trial that had been, convincing them to let him pass when he had so long been denied this very thing,) they had rather unceremoniously opened the ground beneath his feet, toppling him arse over tea-kettle into the mortal realm.

His cloak had taken almost all of the moisture from the ground as he hit it. He could hear Goblin laughter ringing after him, and he swore in silence. He would handle them later. For now he simply had to change his clothing and seek out Sarah. He waved his hand, summoning a crystal to him. Or, at least, that's what he had attempted. No crystal came. No powers surged to life within him, rising to do his will.

"Damnation Galen…" It seemed there were several things his father had left out when he had made his little visit. Like the fact that while he was in the Aboveground he would be denied the use of even the simplest magic. Stripping his cloak off he shook his head at the loss. It had been watered silk, after all, and taken the seamstresses almost three weeks to embroider the thousands of golden stars on the underside.

He had no clue which direction to proceed in. Wonderful. So he began walking forward, in the direction he had landed facing. It was as good a place as any to start. And while he walked he wondered, not for the first time, what Sarah's reaction to seeing him would be.

* * *

Ayden scowled at Duncan. The old man had gone too far this time. There was something wrong with the Yank, obviously she was not as healthy as he had first thought. Maybe the lass had caught a bit of a cold along the way. But despite the fact that she had eaten like she was starving and had grown paler throughout the duration of his tale, Duncan had not once inquired about the lass' well being.

"Are you well, miss Sarah?"

Ayden's voice snapped her out of her melancholy. She had been so close… so close to remembering something. Surely it was a memory, she reasoned, or else it wouldn't have been so clear in her mind, so fixed and unchanging. It was the same every time she caught a glimpse of it.

"Yes, I'm sorry, just feeling the time difference. How much for the.. Err…" She bit her lower lip, wondering what to call the food he had given her earlier. The taste of the corned beef still lingered in her memory and she was just gluttonous enough to want more. "The food I had earlier?"

"No charge, miss Sarah." Ayden dismissed her concerns. "'Tis the specialty of the house, Irish Nachos. You Yanks love them." With a rather sly wink, he continued to speak. "Maeve sent you here to me, and so I shall see to it that you don't starve to death for wanting. Would get me in a fair amount of trouble with my Aunt, to be sure."

'Nachos' was a familiar word, one said everyday at home. But it sounded different when he said it, the way his accent painted the syllables. She smiled. She found she liked the lilt of an Irish brogue.

"Well, if you're sure…" She tucked her hand into her pocket anyway, running her fingers over her slim wallet. She usually didn't carry cash, and she didn't know whether or not he would accept her visa card. She hoped that she wouldn't have to worry about the exchange of money for the day. Seeing the old man shift out of his seat, she offered him a large, winning smile. "Thank you again for the story, Duncan."

The old man laughed, his icy-blue eyes twinkling in merriment. "I am the grateful one, Sarah." He seemed pleased to use her name. In fact the moment he heard it his entire demeanor had changed. Maybe he had known a Sarah. She shrugged away the bothersome thought, and told herself it didn't matter one way or the other. She was just happy not to be glared at any longer.

"Well Ayden I'm sad to say I must be off." Ayden only nodded, and Sarah felt like she was missing something. What did they know that they weren't telling her?

After the old man had gone, Sarah tilted her head and rested her elbow on the bar, her chin sitting in her hand. Her hair had almost come entirely loose, and it ran around her arms most charmingly. When Ayden turned to talk to her he paused a moment, checking the urge to speak to her in Gaelic. She was hauntingly beautiful. She was well suited to this place, with her Fey-sharp features and her pale good looks.

He mentally shook himself, reminded again that she belonged to another. There was no appreciation, no interest for him in her eyes, or in her sleepy pose. It seemed that she was unaware of her innocent appeal. It made his need to deliver his warning more important.

"I'd be careful, Sarah. Some things--some people--are not what they seem at all."

Sarah straightened, entirely roused by his warning. She had been so content a moment ago, and now she had been restored to her usual worried self. What did he mean by that, exactly? But before she could question him, demand to know what secrets she was being kept out of, she checked the urge. She wasn't sixteen anymore, after all.

"I will. Thanks." She looked down at the menu laying almost discarded beside her. "What do you have with more of the corned beef?"

* * *

It had been quite some time, Jareth knew. Quite some time, and he was still wandering about lost in the bloody woods. He kicked a tree in his frustration, and yelped as it stung. Gods be damned, this mortal place had far too many trees! And they were so dense at times that he was sure he would any moment stumble head first into a mortal-realm version bog of eternal stench. Not that his personal effects could get any less appealing, he thought with a grimace.

His pants, which were a fine black Mogen-hide and leather, were now splotched with mud from his unceremonious entrance. His tunic was silken as well, and now it had been snagged on so many brambles that it looked as coarse as any linen garment might. His long silver-gold hair… well it didn't even bear thinking about his hair. He might actually cry.

It lay matted around his head and shoulders, looking more like a bird's nest than anything as silken and splendid as it usually was.

He stopped his sullen inspection when he heard a noise from somewhere behind him. The woods had been eerily silent the last few moments, and he had truly feared that he had wandered into some large predator's den. No doubt that would not end well. And now he drew his ceremonial short-rapier, hoping to discourage the thing should it be large and think him a good meal.

Instead of a great beast, from the trees emerged an old man, bent and wizened. And still, Jareth knew him immediately. "Dounacain?"

"Ah, so it was you, Your Highness. They call me Duncan here." As easily as a man removing his cloak, the glamour slipped from the old man, and he stood, his hunched back cracking loudly as it straightened. Hair that had been as white as snow shifted slightly into a moon-spun silver. His eyes remained the same, however, as cold and unrelenting as chips of winter ice. His bow was mocking, and Jareth longed for the power to truly humble him. Duncan had always been to bold for his own good.

"What are you doing in the mortal realms, Duncan? You know that the Fey are not welcome here. The High Council--"

"They sent me to this place to begin with." Bitterness coated the words, the voice now as youthful as the body had become. "When you caught me thieving spells they sent me here, assuming that I, like you are now, would be without my magic. They were wrong. I found it's source here, where magic was free for the taking. This town is mine, Jareth, and all within it."

Jareth's eyes narrowed at the direct challenge, and the menacing quality in the younger Fey's stance. "There is one within the town that does not belong to you. One you cannot have."

"Ah, yes… the lovely Lady Sarah…" Leaning against the tree, Duncan shot Jareth a look that was so quickly gone that he thought he had imagined it. Envy. "She was yours. The mark is there for all of our kind to see. But it is fading, Your Highness, and when it is gone she will be free of you."

More than ever, Jareth was glad that he had placed his mark upon her. It was a simple thing, to reach into the mind of a mortal and will them to accept you. To bend them toward you above all others. He had doubted his decision several times over the past few years, but now, for once, there was only joy. Duncan would not have hesitated otherwise.

"She would have been free of me long ago if she had wished to. She could have denied the mark, denied my touch in her dreams, denied the gifts I gave her freely these past few years." _As she refused me in the Labyrinth._ The words hovered, unspoken, between the two Fey men.

It was the only thing that had given him hope all these years. She had dreamed of him, even though she would never remember the dreams completely. She had reached out to him in her time of need, and he had marked her. It had been all he could do from the Underground as her life was slipping away. He took her pain from her, replaced it with his warmth, with the feelings he possessed for her.

"She knows, you know. About your Father and Miranda." Duncan's comment sounded casual, but it was not. It was a deft stab between the ribs, delivered quickly and deeply. "I told her about the King of the Fey, and how he lost the woman he loved… She remembers you. But only very little." He shrugged, his silver hair flowing over his shoulder like silken moonlight. "She will forget you easily enough."

"Ah will she?" His heart was racing, but Jareth kept his tone calm. Cold. His eyes remained silver, devoid of emotion. "Would you like to make a wager, Duncan?"

Duncan's eyes lit at the thought of a challenge. All Fey loved games and contests, and it was Jareth's only hope now.

"What type of wager?" His eyes were narrowed now, sensing the trap in his opponent's offer.

"We shall compete, on even ground, for her affections. You can either renounce your magic or show me the place where you received them. And then we shall see just who she prefers. If she chooses your affections, I will return to the Underground and never bother either of you again. If she chooses me, you will do likewise, and respect the magic of this world, removing yourself from it for so long as you live here." Jareth could only hope that Duncan would agree. It was his only chance to get his magic back, or at least stop Duncan from claiming Sarah when his own mark faded entirely. The long separation had already dimmed their connection, he couldn't even sense her at first.

Duncan threw his head back and laughed to the skies, obscured as they were by the thick canopy of the trees. Even as the last of the daylight was fading, their clearing stayed lit, perhaps by the High Council. They were, without a doubt, going to be watching this scene. This fateful encounter between Jareth and his exiled subject.

"You think that I will take you to the source of my magic, and then you can just snatch her away into the Underground! Well I will show you! I renounce the magic within my blood, and do so agree to the terms of your wager, King of the Fey!" Duncan's eyes lit it what might have been mad desire, or just the pain of losing his magic. It rippled through him, dizzying him enough that he fell back, resting his head against the full trunk of a large tree.

Jareth strode forward, lifting his well-groomed nemesis by the shirt-front into the air. His muscles had served him well in his youth, and they would continue to aid him here without his magic. It was all he had now. That and his wits. "You will regret this moment for the rest of your long, magic-less existence."

And Jareth set off in the direction from which Duncan had come, hoping to find some semblance of cover before nightfall came. He could smell the rain in the air, and knew that he would be soaked to the skin if it found him before he found shelter.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**All right everyone, things just got interesting… dum dum dum! The next chapter should be up in a few hours to make up for this one being a little short, so please stick around. Oh, and review! Please! I don't care what you have to say, even if it is just a smilie face. It lets me know that people are actually out there reading and having opinions. Please?**

**Well Jareth is happy that he thought of the challenge, but he is in need of a good bath and some much awaited Sarah-Jareth time. Hehe… he has no idea what I have planned… Stop looking at me that way, Sarah, I'm not crazy.**

**All right well, until next chapter,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:_ I do not own the Labyrinth, that belongs to the Jim Hensen company. But I do own a computer, so I'm gonna borrow Jim Hensen's characters until he notices they are missing. Hehe_**

* * *

_In a desperate attempt to keep Sarah from the eventual claiming Duncan intended, Jareth struck a wager up with the exiled Fey: They would compete for her affections until there was one clear winner. Meanwhile Sarah has no idea what has happened, but she will find out soon enough…_

* * *

**In the Night:**

The night was thick and cold. When he had finally emerged from the trees, it was with a great sigh of releif. The rain was already soaking through him, and he shivered. So, this was what rain felt like, weighing one down, soaking them until their only thought was for warmth and safety and comfort…_And Sarah._ Jareth shook his head, sending a pelt of rain to the sodden, sucking mud he trudged through. That last one was probably a desire only he felt.

He had been in the rain before, Jareth mused, trudging toward the distant light. It was just beyond his sight, the strange shape in the dark. But when one had magic, if the rain touched them it all it was easily repelled, forgotten, and never soaked in.

The closer he came, the less encouraged he felt. It was a private residence, no doubt. It was too far away from the other buildings to be anything else, and he doubted that the owner would relish the thought of muddy, sullen company.

But the rain came down harder, with bits of ice now, and he knew he had no other choice. The single window that was lit was also open, and he caught the vague impression of long dark hair and pale skin. But, he told himself, it was probably just a dream of his, just what he wanted to see. _Sarah-mine, my Precious One…_

The gate was closed, the little latch rattling in the wind and rain. Though he knew it was to keep wanderers and vagabonds out, he told himself that neither applied to him. With frozen fingers he opened the latch, knowing that his leather gloves didn't keep his hands warm at all. They had been long discarded, stuffed into the pocket of his tunic, which was tattered and torn by thorned bramble growing at the bases of large trees.

There were pretty little stepping tones the color of moonlight in the soggy earth, and he lifted his head slightly, seeing that just ahead was the door step, and the relative shelter of the overhang of the roof. On either side of the walkway and the door grew flowers, all in jewel tones of red and blue and yellow. He found that most of the plants could be found within his own Labyrinth. Though he would never admit it, the fact that this place was similar to his own home made him a little less fearful and uncomfortable.

The door itself was thick oak, and he pounded on it rather than knocking. His teeth chattered endlessly, and his skin was beginning to turn blue. He knew enough about medicine to know that this was not a good sign. He needed warmth, and he needed it soon.

When he was about to raise his fist again he was greeted by a plump, frowning woman. Her hair was dark red and pulled away from her round face with strange round contraptions. She was in her nightgown, it appeared, though her robe was thick it was not entirely shut. On her feet were white, fuzzy slippers. She seemed upset at first, but as he thought of what to say, she seemed to soften. A moment later he was in the house, bundled in a towel and three blankets before the roaring fireplace, having cups of 'hot chocolate' forced upon him.

He still hadn't spoken.

"Now ye don't look like a vagabond te me, but then again I've been wrong afore. So then, lad, what are ye doin' out in the cold and the rain?" Her question was delivered in a lilting tone that he found vaguely familiar. He supposed it was because his father used it so often.

"I don't know… I can't remember anything." The lie was simple enough. It made the most sense. He was glad he had thought of it beforehand, because he knew that he was still too cold to have lied on the spot convincingly enough.

"Ye can't recall why ye were out in the storm?"

"I can't recall anything, Ma'am. I know only my name, and not even the full of it. I've been wandering in the storm since before it started, trying to find my way out of the woods. I understand if you don't believe me, but--" Jareth was cut short by her clucking.

"Now what reason do I have te doubt ye? Ye don't seem like the type te take advantage of an old woman's charity. Yer welcome te wait out the storm here, lad, and we shall see if ye can recall anything when it passes. Though it may be a day or more afore it goes any farther than the garden gate. 'Tis a wicked storm, this, and unlike any I've seen in a few years." She rose from the chair she had been in and moved toward a door on the far wall, opposite the door and just past the entrance of the staircase. "I'll go and see what I have fer clothing in yer size. I will be back."

The promise was almost enough to make Jareth flee. The woman wanted to know things that he couldn't tell her, and he wondered if she wouldn't be better off without him here. True, he needed a place until his task here was through, but he hated to impose on anyone, and this woman wouldn't even let him rise from his place before the hearth to fetch his own blankets.

She had returned, he thought, lowering his head into his arms. _Gods help me… what am I to do?_ His prayer was punctuated by footsteps too light to belong to the plump woman who had opened her door and linen closet to him so willingly.

"Miss O'Fallon?" The voice was hesitant, and feminine. It was the answer to his prayers. As Jareth looked up he saw her descending the staircase, more beautiful than he had even dared to dream her. She was wearing a silken robe, and her feet were bare. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her features still softened by dreams. She was not dressed provocatively, no indeed, nor was she doing anything particularly arousing. But just the sight of her made him uncomfortably aware of the wet confines of his pants.

He wanted to rise and go to her, to ask her why hadn't called to her friends even once, why she didn't seem to recall him in her dreams. But he just sat there in silence before the fire, watching her make her way slowly towards the door. When he could no longer see her behind the large sofa, he closed his eyes, and imagined her. But no amount of imagining could do her justice, and so he stopped the attempt.

"I knew it was a dream. He isn't real. Stupid Sarah…" Her voice was soft with sleep and harsh in her self-loathing.

"Never stupid, Sarah." His voice had come out of nowhere, and he clenched his eyes shut, hoping that his rebel tongue, speaking without his permission, wouldn't do him more harm than good.

* * *

She felt her heart pick up in her chest and begin racing, just as it had when she had seen _him _through the window. The elusive person she had been having flashes of memory about. Did she know him? Would he know her? Would she finally get the answers she had wanted for so many years?

She rounded the couch slowly, seeing him in the real world for the first time.

His hair was matted and tangled, but she could tell that it was long, and usually well kept. Despite it's current state, it shined. She suspected that it would never have been let to get this way if he had any say in it. He was swathed in thick blankets, so the rest was hard to discern. He was even facing away from her. Still, she was sure. It had been the voice she recalled, the one that had pulled her through her panic atacks with soothing words of comfort. He had to be the one she remembered.

"What did you say?" Her voice was soft, almost timid. Though if she was honest with herself, this was the most dangerous, bold thing she had done since she was sixteen.

"Oh, Sarah, I see ye are making the acquaintance of our newest guest. What was your name again, lad?" Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin at Miss O'Fallon's approach. She had been so eager for him to speak… well, now she would have his name.

"Jareth, Ma'am."

"Jareth." Sarah repeated it, not knowing why she did. It was an echo of his own tone, and she wondered why he sounded so victorious. He lifted his head and their eyes met, and she understood perfectly. Oh, he _had_ won… He had won, after all.

* * *

"Wake up, lass, wake up now…" It was motherly it it's concern, and Sarah smiled in her sleep. It had been so long since she had heard that tone, felt that concern. But it wasn't her mother's voice. No, this one was musical, and too concerned to worry about the thickness of an accent.

"What…?" Her weary question seemed to put the woman--Miss O'Fallon, Sarah realized with a sigh-- at ease.

"Och, there ye are. I was a wee bit worried, lass, when ye fainted. Fainted! Right there in the middle of the livin' room. 'Twas lucky that ye landed fair on top of the lad. I'm sure he made a comfortable enough bed to the fall." Mischief danced in the older woman's eyes, and for some reason Sarah didn't like it. She had remembered something, and it had hurt so bad and stunned her so deeply that she had actually fainted.

She knew Jareth. She had been standing in front of him, and he was offering her a crystal. It had been dark, a tunnel or something. He had lifted those eyebrows--strange to her, now-- and waved his hand, moving the arms on a clock. Not fair, she had protested. Oh, she had loved that phrase when she was younger…

He had looked different then, so much older. In the living room, bereft of the difference in age and the distracting sparkle he had always seemed to prefer in his clothing, _Jareth_ had looked like her dream man. She snorted, not noticing that Miss O'Fallon was still there, and now frowning.

Maybe he so resembled the man of her dreams because he had _been_ the man in her dreams.

"I'm sorry Miss O'Fallon…"Something caught Sarah's attention, sending a shiver of dread through her. Staring into her eyes were another pair, dark green and terrified. "What is that mirror doing uncovered?" Her voice was shrill, her eyes wild.

"I am sorry, Miss Sarah, but the coverin' fell to the floor when we carried ye in. I was so worried for ye that I didn't even think te put it up again…" Maeve O'Fallon was truly sorry, and so Sarah didn't protest. Rather, she moved closer to the little mirror. Her reflection, now foreign to her, was almost mesmerizing.

She had been rounder as a sixteen-year-old. Her features less defined, her hair shorter and somewhat lighter. It was almost black as pitch now, falling ion long waves to her lower back. She crawled forward, marveling at the lithe muscles in her pale arms, at the fluid grace in which she moved.

Seeing the young woman's fixation, Miss O'Fallon stepped in front of the mirror and smiled. She didn't know what was wrong with the woman she was renting a room to, but it was obviously something that had kept her away from her reflection for quite a while.

"Do ye know the lad, Miss Sarah? He has a touch of amnesia, he says. Thinks he might have hit his head, but we couldna find a bump. He said ye looked familiar to him, thought he knew ye from the States." Her voice was a little watery, as though she knew that she was trying to distract Sarah and failing. "If ye know him then ye wouldna mind talking te him, maybe helping' him where ye could te recall something'…?"

"I don't know. I think I know him, but I have a… a medical condition." She hated the term. "I have acute anxiety, and whenever something strains me I have an anxiety attack. I had a traumatic event a few years ago, and so my memory is probably no better than his."

"Ah, well… Then I suppose ye would like me te refuse him, then? He has asked to stay for a little while, til either he can find something of his past or gainful employment, whichever comes first. But ye paid good money te have the place to yerself, Miss, and I wouldna ask ye--"

"He can stay. Of course, yes, if he has nowhere else to go and you don't mind the extra expense. It's your home, Miss O'Fallon." Sarah sighed and stretched, her mind still straining toward the stranger hidden in the mirror. That stranger knew the man downstairs. The stranger knew the secret memories and dreams.

"Well he will not be a bother, I assure ye. While he is to be stayin' here he will be doin' odd repairs to the place. Ye recall how I told ye the stairs were creakin' something awful… Seems he knows how to fix that. I suppose 'tis as fair a way as any te earn supper and keep him out of yer way." Miss O'Fallon turned and threw the fallen sheet over the mirror, giving Sarah one last vague impression of a pale skinned, dark haired woman. With a gently offered smile, Miss O'Fallon turned to leave the room.

"Thank you for getting me to my room, Miss O'Fallon."

"Och, lass, I couldna have lifted ye. 'Twas Jareth. Carried ye as though you were as delicate as a feather and three times as dear to cost." She paused, smiling over her shoulder at the young woman in the bed. "And I'd get to know the lad if I were ye, Sarah. If I didn't know him afore I would pretend I did." With a saucy wink the older woman swept out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Sarah waited a few minutes before she got the courage to do what her mind was urging. She edged off of the bed slowly, moving deliberately toward the dresser. The vanity mirror was obscured by thick sheets, and she knew that if she didn't do this now she might never do it a all. Slowly she opened and closed her fists. Once. Twice. And then she grabbed the sheet and pulled, her eyes closed tightly.

She took three calming breaths, and then three more. And then she opened her eyes, and it all made sense again.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Well I'm pleased with it, for now. They will interact more, maybe actually **_**have a conversation**_** next chapter. Hehe… and now Sarah is getting some of her memories back. Will that help the Goblin King win her heart, or lose her for him forever? Guess you'll just have to stick around to see.**

**Sarah's a little busy at the moment, but she and Jareth are looking forward to the next chapter. From here on out it gets a little mature, rated 'M' for a reason.**

**Any questions, comments, or ideas are more than welcome, please please review!**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own 'the Labyrinth', because if I had Jareth would have appeared half-naked periodically throughout the movie, and Sarah would have been played by… Well… me. Oh well, that's what I have dreams for. Hehe**

* * *

_Once upon a stormy night a Fey King dragged his matted, soaked self up the steps of a mortal bed and breakfast, and found within the one that his heart most desired. But will the one that he remembered fondly share the same sentiments now that her memories are slowly returning? Sarah has seen the woman in the mirror, and she is a far-cry from the child she recalled._

* * *

**Changes:**

It was still pouring rain and cold beyond comprehension when Sarah woke the next morning, her dreams had been disturbing and vaguely familiar, and she hadn't been able to recall any of them when she had opened her eyes.

Looking around her cream-colored room she sighed, catching sight of her reflection. For the first time in five years she could meet her own eyes and not feel like the woman in the mirror was keeping secrets from her. Now Sarah knew some of those secrets. Whether those things she 'remembered' had actually happened was another matter entirely, one to ponder further on another day.

Sarah knew Jareth, the man downstairs. She had acted with him, or some other thing, because he was dressed in leather pants and heeled boots, and a white peasant shirt, open just so at the throat-- He had been a villain of sorts. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made. But there was something undeniably _true_ about the thought, about the pictures and the words in her head.

She recalled also a small fox sitting upon a dog, one that looked suspiciously like her own dog Merlin back home. And then there was the large, fuzzy beast she had seen in the mirror, and the smaller goblin between the two, the one who was wearing her bracelet. _Hoggle_. Her mind was being rather forthcoming now, and rather than second-guessing it, Sarah content to just let it come to her.

Had it been seeing her reflection last night that had brought it all back? Or was it the sight of the man downstairs? The latter made her blush warmly, and was probably just as important as the first. They had both helped, she thought with a shrug as she moved to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. As she picked out her clothes she wondered--absurdly--what Jareth had thought when she had come downstairs in her nightgown…

He wasn't the same, she thought, dropping her clothes for the day to the seat of the toilet and adjusting the water temperature. She stripped slowly, doing what she hadn't done in years. She looked into the mirror. Well, she was different too.

She had been a lot sharper at sixteen, a lot more juts where there were now curves. Se was taller, so that helped to get rid of a lot of the baby fat she recalled. All in all it wasn't a bad change, just odd when put together in the big picture. She had, of course, seen herself in the shower, but seeing it full in front of her in the mirror was altogether different.

She turned and stepped into the steaming water, smiling at the feeling, and recalling all she could about the Jareth of then and now. His eyes were the same shape, almost almond, exotic and appealing. His eyebrows, however, were not as drastically shaped. While still tilted up at the outer edges, they no longer appeared to be something out of an 80's glam-rock video. Is hair, either. It was all on long length, she thought. It had been such a mess last night that she wasn't sure about that observation.

Reaching out for the bottle of shampoo she had brought, she smiled. Peaches. They had been her favorite fruit, but she hadn't eaten them in forever. It was probably another memory she had lost. Most things seemed connected when she focused on them. And all of them were connected to him.

Somehow she managed to get through the shower with only a hundred inappropriate thoughts about Miss O'Fallon's vagabond guest, and she was pleased. It could have easily been double that for all the times she stopped herself from going down a particular road. One that involved peach shampoo and soap bubbles, and his arrogantly quirked lips… they would taste amazing, she was sure, though how she didn't know. Had they ever kissed?

No, she doubted that she would forget that. He looked like the type of man to make a girl remember.

She toweled her long hair dry, biting her lower lip softly. Miss O'Fallon said Jareth had lost his memory too. Would it be wrong of her to talk to him, to try to jar him into remembering something? She tried to think it wasn't selfish, told herself again and again that it was for him as much as her that she would be asking. But the lie was just that, and she couldn't bring herself to do it if he didn't want to. She would just have to ask him what he remembered and go from there.

She tugged on a pair of black jeans and a blue sweater with black embroidery. It was one of her favorites. As she turned to go downstairs she caught a glimpse of her reflection and gasped in horror. Her favorite sweater made her look like an old woman with twelve cats!

Sometimes mirrors were more trouble than they are worth, she thought, tugging off the sweater and rummaging for something else to wear. If Jareth was indeed the man she remembered instead of a relation, an older or younger brother… well, she didn't want to look like she would be taking his measurements for a fuzzy sweater for Christmas.

No matter how much the idea of him standing shirtless in the middle of the room waiting for her to take said measurements appealed to her.

* * *

The woman was going to kill him.

"Och no, Jareth, yer hair was a far worse mess than this last night and she didn't run away from ye screamin'. What makes ye think that a haircut would make ye more appealin' te her?"

Jareth took a deep breath, and unclenched his fists. He was not used to being questioned. "My hair is a mass of tangles and snares and I fear that I will never remove them all. Plus, is it not the fashion in the Above-- in this place--" He amended quickly, "for men to wear their hair shorter?"

The idea distressed him as well, and that was part of the reason he was so mad at the woman for questioning him. It was not her place, and it was giving him second thoughts.

"Aye, it is, but lads don't grow their hair to your lengths te begin with. And it looks like it would come out right enough if ye'd just take more care when ye brushed it. 'Tisn't goin' te fix itself, now is it?"

Jareth held his tongue again, checking his temper. _Yes,_ he wanted to snarl, _it should fix itself. But I gave up my powers to come here and court your tenant, the one who can't even recall who I am._ It was all most frustrating.

"If you will not do it then hand me the scissors and I shall do it myself!" The hair would grow back, and he really couldn't get all of the tangles out. It was enough to make him wish that he had taken more care to memorize the particular Goblin guardians he would have to murder at the end of this escapade. It would be such a shame, him having to eliminate the entire race in his pursuit to punish the three that had quite literally dropped him into this world.

"If ye are sure that it's what ye want, I'll do it for ye. A shame it is, though…" As the hefty woman approached, Jareth stared at the apron pocket growing nearer and nearer by the second. When the first cut came, Jareth winced. Fey were very sensitive creatures, from fingers and toes to the very hair on their heads. If he had not been incapacitated by the loss of his powers, he was not sure he could have refrained from lashing out. As it was it took all of his strength to ignore the sharp, biting sensation the scissors caused as they clipped a length of hair from his head. It felt like a paper cut might, except tripled. It was as painful as-- suddenly he understood why. There was iron in the scissors.

The thought sobered him, and he stopped shifting, stopped all movement. If she so much as nicked him with the edge he could be in serious jeopardy. Iron poisoning was one of the only ways to kill a Fey, the most painfully slow way, but the most assured to do the deed.

"There now, the tangles shouldna' be such a problem for ye te overcome." Maeve stepped back and surveyed her work, pleased. It was still longer than was the fashion, but it fell around his face, just so over the ears, and it had a wonderful wave to it. Every so often a stray lock would wander across his forehead, and it made Maeve O'Fallon wish she was twenty years younger, and almost a hundred pounds slimmer. This vagabond was appealing to all the senses now that he was bathed, dressed, and groomed.

"Thank you, Miss O'Fallon, I do appreciate this. And the clothes." He gestured to the flannel shirt he wore and the tan cargo pants. When he had first been introduced to the zipper, he had turned green. But having bested the hungry thing without losing anything precious, he was placed in a far better mood than he might have been.

He tugged the antique comb through his hair, wishing that he had dragged Sarah into the Underground rather than coming up here himself. It was strange, stopping one's brush-stroke just above the shoulders. Miss O'Fallon excused herself from the downstairs washroom, where the haircut had taken place, and Jareth took one bold, assessing look in the mirror.

His pointed features were softened slightly by the cut. It flattered his jaw line, making it appear firmer, more masculine. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the stray lock of hair on his forehead. Oh, it looked appealing enough, but it was damnably irritating. Well, at least the woman hadn't lied when she had said she could dress hair. He would have been rather put out to resemble a shorn sheep. Though some part of him insisted he looked the part whether he thought it or not. It was only a temporary loss, he soothed his bruised ego. As soon as he was home in the Underground he would use a spell to return it to it's normal length. Unless Sarah preferred it this way.

But hadn't she imagined him differently all those years ago? He was now devoid of the glittering clothes, the makeup, the oddly cultivated eyebrows… He looked like a mortal man, almost. If one disregarded the pointed ears and slightly sharper teeth. He desperately hoped that they would, and was grateful that the High Council had given him at least some semblance of humanity.

Barefoot, Jareth padded silently out of the washroom and into the kitchen. He would start on the stairs today, hopefully using it as an excuse to keeps his hands busy as he talked to Sarah. It was a palpable urge within him, every time that he saw her, to hold her close and whisper thanks to the Gods that she was still alive. Last time she had reached for him she had been dying, and he was almost sure he would lose her.

He glanced towards the dining room, shocked and pleased to see her enter the room, as though conjured by his thoughts. Though he knew he was without magic, the idea that she might have been directed his way made him smile.

Her hair was tied back away from her face today flowing around her as she leaned forward to inspect the day's newspaper. She was wearing black pants, similar to his own, but worn tighter to her skin. Her shirt was soft teal, long sleeved, and it looked like it would shift like silk under his fingers. His hand itched to test the theory, so he balled it in a fist. He realized that he was gaping at her like a fool and narrowed his eyes. Well, time to begin the courtship.

"Sarah? I--"

"Oh." She looked up at him, and then looked quickly away. "You… you cut your hair."

"Yes, it was so snared and knotted that I couldn't manage to brush through it alone. Our hostess aided me in the trimming, of course, as I couldn't see to do it myself." The last was rather haughty, as though she was expected to know that he wouldn't perform such a task himself.

She looked up at him, blushed, and then stared at the paper again. Was he so displeasing to look upon, then? Did she prefer the glittering, mortal-esque creature she had made him for her run in the Labyrinth? Surely there had to be a reason she looked upon him as though he was being indecent. Or at least vulgar in some way.

"Why do you blush that way? Am I mistaking something?" His voice was sharp, and she shook her head quickly.

* * *

His words made her shake away her thoughts. He was amazing in the light from the kitchen. The dining room was lit by candles as the kitchen was lit with LED bulbs. The blend of new and old allowed the kitchen to function better and gave the dining room a modicum of intimacy. Jareth in any light, she realized, was stunning.

He was wearing cargo pants that were just a hare too large for his trim waist. Gravity had tugged them down just a bit lower than they were meant, and she was given a very interesting picture. His flannel was unbuttoned despite the cold, and his golden and silver hair was falling recklessly around his face. The front was doing an amazingly appealing Clark Kent-Superman thing, and she bit her lip. She really shouldn't have been thinking dirty thoughts about a man she didn't really remember. For all she knew she hated him. But surely if she had hated him she wouldn't be standing five feet away now wondering at the golden trail of hair chasing downward like an arrow until it met the waistband of his pants.

That was not permitted, even for close acquaintances. Though, if Sarah was to be honest with herself, she'd admit that she had no close acquaintances, and that this man who may or may not have known her in her youth was one of the closest things she had to a friend. She dreamed of him, after all, almost every night.

"Usually men don't walk around shirtless." Sarah preferred to be on the offense to being on the defensive, and so she tipped up her chin in challenge. The gesture made him smile.

"What, does it bother you?" He stretched negligently, and Sarah's mouth watered at the play of muscle the telltale motion displayed. _Snap out of it Sarah! He is not here to oogle! Talk to him!_

"N-No." The stammered denial was enough to make her want to curl up somewhere and die. And then he gave her one long, assessing look, from her toes to the top of her head, and then down again.

"Well, I don't usually tolerate being lied to. But when it comes out of such an appealing little package I feel more inclined to ignore it. So I shall, this time." He sat down in the chair at the head of the table, one leg going over the arm of the chair in a pose that screamed in her mind.

Sarah was more sure than ever that she knew him, that at least _something _she had recalled was real.

"Do you know me?" She tilted her head to the side, slowly, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulder. She met his eyes directly, noticing that they were shifting colors, like light on water. The effect was dizzying.

"Yes."

"Did we meet when I was sixteen, in that place I dream about?"

"Right again, Sarah." His lips quirked, anticipating the next question.

"How did I know you?"

Jareth laughed, his voice making Sarah shiver not in fear, but in pure female pleasure. His laughter brought to mind dark things, things that mothers warn their daughters against loudly and often. "Oh, how to answer that question… I was your villain, your Prince… I was the darkness in the oubliette and the sunlight in the gardens. You bested me, you scorned me, and still I offered you the world." There was no bitterness in his voice. It was curiously accepting, as though this had happened an eternity ago for him. Well, for Sarah it was newly born. She had no recollection beyond glimpses that he was telling the truth. But his words felt true, so she nodded.

The words came to her lips, and she was almost unwilling to say them. Were they lines from a play, or were they something else entirely? "Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be…" The change in him was instant, the very air around them seemed to grow heavy.

"Do not finish that phrase, Sarah. Do not make an offer you cannot possibly mean." She leaned forward, now sharing her space. Seated his head came to about her chest, and the foot or so between their faces was no longer safe enough. He was something more than other men. The knowledge was in her blood, heating it more than anything else ever had.

"You scare me when you look at me that way, Jareth." The admission stung, some part of her resented saying it.

"You've changed, Precious, you never would have admitted it before. I'm pleased to see that it isn't only your body that's matured these last few years." He punctuated the statement with another glance, and Sarah recoiled, crossing her arms. He laughed at her discomfort, an she wanted to lash out. She would have, but for the ringing of the doorbell.

"After I get that I'm going to tell you what I think about leering old men." Her scathing reply hit it's target, and Jareth raised a single brow at the venom in it. So she hadn't changed so drastically. It was a welcome similarity. He was beginning to wonder if it was his Sarah still after all, or if another sweet-tempered woman had simply stolen away in Sarah's familiar eyes.

Jareth's pleasant mood, however, died as the door was opened to reveal a smiling man on the other side bearing lavender roses. Duncan.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Rather than posting a second chapter today, I am going to go out and have some fun with some old friends. While this doesn't help you any, it will no doubt give me a better disposition next chapter, which will surely be better than me being grumpy.**

**Speaking of grumpy, Jareth is slightly put-out with me at having cut his hair. Oh well Sarah likes it, so he'll live. Spoiled Fey King… Now he's going to be in a bad mood all day. Oh well…**

**Remember, please review! I read all of them and take them into consideration. For all of you who have reviewed, I just wanted to say that you're amazing. Thank you to: Trixie09, ChilaliSnowbird, Rahpsody, hazlgrnLizzy, and the rest of you wonderful people! **

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:**** If wishes were fishes, then no one would starve. I do my part, I could feed the entire population of North America with some of the things I dream… hehe… Once again, I don't own 'the Labyrinth.'**

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_With memories coursing through her, Sarah goes to confront the man with the answers. However, Jareth isn't feeling too forthcoming. His answers do little to ease her curiosity, and his avid interest in her makes Sarah a little nervous, and more self-aware than she had been in years. The doorbell cuts short what had been a promising conversation, revealing a Fey bearing lavender roses. It seems the game is on._

* * *

**Their Prize:**

"Hello, if those are for Miss O'Fallon I think she is in the kitchen--" Sarah was stopped short by the young man's laughter. She narrowed her eyes, not liking the sensation of being laughed at for making the obvious connection.

"I'm sorry, a amháin, I didn't mean to insult you… Never that." He offered the roses with a soft smile, and there was sincerity in his eyes. Sharp, blue eyes. She knew that she had seen some that color recently, but she was also sure that she had never met this young man.

"She isn't your little anything." Jareth's growl was shocking to both Sarah and the newcomer. She shot him a discouraging look. He wasn't anything to her, what right did he have to object? He had no claim over her.

_You have no power over me…_

Seeing the expression on her face as she glared over her shoulder, Duncan pressed his luck. Instead of challenging his former King, he took the high road. "I'm sorry… Am I interrupting anything? My grandfather, Duncan the Old, was at the pub the other day and he was worried about you. You didn't look so well. I wanted to come over and make sure you were feeling better…" His voice trailed off and he looked away, pleased at the meek expression. He had never tried it before, and he crowed at his success silently.

"Oh, no, you weren't interrupting anything." Her emphasis on the last word made Duncan smile. Jareth may hold his claim on this mortal woman, but it was plain as day that she didn't champion his claims.

"These are for you, lass, from my grandfather. I only wish I had thought of them." As she took the roses, looking down at them in what seemed to be confused wonder, Duncan shot Jareth a clear wink. And Jareth understood then exactly the risk that he had taken.

He had counted on their previous association to make Sarah more receptive of him, more vulnerable to his charms, and eventually his persuits. It had never occurred to him that their past relationship, as challenger and King, would hinder rather than aid him. It was only too clear that Duncan, free of a dark past, and still with the knowledge she had obviously shared the night before in the pub, was ahead in the contest.

"I'll go put these in some water… be sure to thank your grandfather for me. Oh, come in, please."

"I'm Cain, Miss Sarah. The family named me Duncan, But I've been Cain since I could talk, and Cain I remain." With a show of charm he bowed, and Sarah laughed at the movement.

Jareth cursed fluently in Gaelic, Goblin, and several other languages. Those things were both threats and promises, all anatomically impossible and vastly blunt. Duncan simply laughed. It was going to be a long morning, and probably a long afternoon as well.

Sarah left the two men alone for only a few seconds, only long enough to go into the kitchen, find and fill a vase, and share with Miss O'Fallon that someone from the village had come for a short visit. She was still arranging the blooms when Miss O'Fallon left the kitchen… and began screaming loud enough to rouse the dead.

* * *

Duncan moved over to the table, and seated himself directly opposite Jareth. "So, how does it feel to be powerless, and losing? You never did take losing well, Jareth."

"I'm never powerless, Duncan, and I'm far from losing. You may have played the right card at the door, but you'll see where her affections lie. She recall what she feels for me. She is just too innocent to admit it." Jareth stretched, uncaring that his chest was bare where his borrowed shirt left a long strip from neck to navel open. "Offer her pretty words. They will not sway her."

"You offered her crystal dreams, you offered her a place as your Queen. You offered yourself, Jareth. Maybe you'll remember that when your back in the Underground, alone, and I'm up here, with your chosen Queen. While I'm lying in her bed, kissing every inch of that pale skin--"

Jareth stood, the palms of his hands slamming into the table with all of the force of his restrained temper. "You will not talk about her that way, do you understand me, bride-thief? Wasn't that what caused your exile in the first place? Elysia didn't want you, Sarah doesn't want you… no one wants you, because you're a worthless little trickster pretending to be a man."

Duncan shot to his feet as well, leaving but a foot between the men. The table between them was solid oak… and it would be easily tossed aside should one say another thing to slander the other.

Miss O'Fallon entered the room with a smile, which quickly faded into a glare of chastisement, and then terror. Her scream was full-bodied and it gave both men shivers. It was only later that Jareth would note the source of her discomfort. He let instinct take him as he moved around to stand in front of the larger woman. Duncan jumped up into a chair.

"Mouse! Mouse! Lord in heavens there's a mouse!"

Jareth could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He moved forward to the pantry, grabbed the broom he had used to sweep up his hair, and shooed the mouse toward the door. Sarah, also a quick thinker, was already at the front door, holding it open against the wind and rain. Seeing the storm outside Jareth almost felt bad, sending the mouse out into it.

Oddly, he felt no qualms about shooing Duncan into it. The sooner the better, in fact.

Sarah shut the door and hurried to comfort Miss O'Fallon. The older, larger woman was sitting now and fanning herself out of a state of hysterics. She was talking in a mixture of Gaelic and English so tangled and convoluted that Jareth, who spoke both languages fluently, was a little lost. Sarah managed, with only soothing words and gestures.

No one seemed to notice as Duncan climbed out of the chair and stood, his eyes continually darting to the place where the mouse had been spotted.

When Maeve O'Fallon was returned to her normal, composed self, she had the good grace to blush and stammer an apology. She was terrified of mice, she explained, because one of her sisters had been bitten by one and she had been privy to the entire thing. It was a traumatizing event, it seemed.

Jareth took up the materials he would need to attend to the staircase, and started to ascend when Miss O'Fallon stopped him.

"Och, lad, the stairs are a mess, bit I canna ignore the holes in the roof any longer. I hate te ask, with the weather what it is, but could ye start there?"

They wanted him to go up in the rain and in the storm, soak himself through again, stand on slippery shingles that could at any moment crumble beneath him or shift wetly sending him to fall to his death? Were they mad? He looked to Sarah only a second, and it gave him pause. There was laughter in her eyes. It was clear that she was amused, and that she didn't think he could do it. Did she think that one was born the King of the Labyrinth, with no trade to claim and no life experiences before it?

"I can do that, Miss, if you can promise something warm for dinner."

Miss O'Fallon began her string of promises about warm food of all different varieties, and her continual thanks. But Jareth was staring at Sarah, leaving no question between them what he would prefer to have for dinner that night in payment. She narrowed her eyes, and somehow the storm and the blasted slippery roof no longer seemed like such a trial.

He gathered the bucket of nails, the old hammer, and the new shingles. By the door he buttoned the borrowed flannel and threw on the jacket Miss O'Fallon had given him to keep as his own. With princely confidence he strode out into the battering storm, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

She could have cheerfully strangled him.

The looks he kept giving her were driving Sarah to distraction, and for he life of her she didn't know what she was supposed to do about it. Oh, she had been admired before, even gone out on a few dates. But she had never been looked at the way that Jareth looked at her. If it had just been those lustful looks, she could have brushed him aside, asked her questions about their past and been done with him. It was the other looks that were so distracting.

He looked at her like she was the sun in the sky, bright and wonderful, something he _needed_. He looked at her like she was precious, something he had cherished. Somehow the thought in conjunction to Jareth made Sarah shake her head. She recalled him as an arrogant creature, amazingly beautiful, terrifying in his power, and his ruthlessness. He would do anything to get what he desired.

Was it true, then? _You cowered before me, I was terrifying._ Was he only terrifying because she had expected him to be? _Everything I've done I've done for you…_

She tried to dispel the idea, but once in her head it wouldn't leave. It took root. She was hardly involved in the conversation Cain and Miss O'Fallon were having. They both lived here in this small Irish town, an she was just a visitor, an authoress off on vacation. She was here as a success, having finished three best-selling books before twenty-two. Most young women her age were getting drunk with freinds or losing their innocence at frat parties.

She shook her head, and tried to pay attention to the conversation that was happening at the table. But every clap of thunder drew her eyes to the windows, and her mind back to the man on the roof.

* * *

Damnation… She was taken with the King after all. Why? Jareth was overbearing and arrogant and cruel… yes, very cruel. And still she was staring out the window, clearly lost in thought and memory. Duncan tried, many times, to draw her into a conversation and keep her attention, but she was so distant… it was not fair, not in the slightest. He would simply have to twist things again, when next her was in the village. Jareth living here was unacceptable.

If this was to end in hi favor, Duncan must appeal to those within town. Propriety was everything in a sleepy Irish town, and surely it was not proper for a young woman to live with a drifter, one who claimed to have lost most of his memories.

That little revelation had opened a great number of doors to Duncan. The people of this town knew of him a Fey, a powerful being with powers that he didn't hesitate to use. It would be a great incentive to aid him, fear for their lives and the lives of their loved ones.

He stole a look at Sarah as she stared blankly out into the storm, wondering if she was worth the struggle. Her hair was rich, thick, and the color of a raven's wing. Her eyes were deep green, like the trees in the forest just before dawn. Her skin was smooth and pale, adding to the contrast between her hair and eyes. Yes, she was fair. But was she worth this struggle? Was she worth competing against the one that had earned the right to be the King of the Labyrinth?

She looked up and caught him staring, and she smiled, shyly. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, and continued to talk with Miss O'Fallon about the garden in the back of the house and how she was sure it would soon be flooded…

The sound of her voice washed over him, an he recalled the glint in those eyes, the passion in them when he had told his tale the other day.

Yes, she was worth it. And then some. He doubted that he had even begun to see the real Sarah, the Sarah that had so captured the King of the Fey. She must be something indeed to hold Jareth's attention. It wasn't as though she was his only option, no, Jareth could have chosen any Fey maiden as his own, and they would have been glad at his attentions.

It was going to make this victory all the more worthwhile. Jareth could have any woman he wanted in the Underground, and he only wanted this one. Duncan had been denied the woman he loved in the Underground, at Jareth's command. Now he would have the only woman Jareth seemed to want.

When Miss O'Fallon rose to begin the roast she had planned for dinner, Duncan stood as well.

"Well, Miss Sarah, I am glad to see you are feeling better. I can tell grandfather without a hint of falsehood. He will be gad to hear it. He told me that I'd agree with his sentiments where you're concerned. I find that I do."

"Really? And what were his sentiments?" His tone was light, so she mirrored it.

"That you were smart, beautiful, and if he was my age he'd set his cap for you." Duncan lightly took her hand, giving her plenty of time to pull away. He raised it to his lips, kissing it chastely. It was meant to make her swoon. She blushed prettily, and he accepted it. "I must tell you, Miss Sarah from America, I am my age."

"Well… thank you, but I'm only going to be in Ireland for a week, and it really wouldn't be fair to you--"

"Please, let me decide what is fair for me. I ask only one thing… be careful, Sarah. It wouldn't do to have your reputation rent to shreds. With that hired hand living under the same roof as you, with only Miss O'Fallon to chaperone… I've done a bit to quell the rumors, but I don't know how well my words will stick, if he is to remain here."

"Jareth is a good man, Cain, and if anyone wants to make insinuations they will do it, regardless." Her tone lost it's force, and she made herself smile. Duncan wanted to curse. "Thank you again for the flowers, they're lovely."

"You're welcome, Sarah. You deserve more than that, but I'm afraid it is all I have to give at the moment. If you can find the time I'd like for you to accompany me to the pub sometime." Seeing the protest upon her lips, he added, "As a friend, if that is your wish. As a friend and nothing more."

After a moment she smiled and nodded. "I think I'd like that. Be careful on your way home, Cain, the storm out there is pretty bad…" Again she looked out and up, and Duncan had no question of whom she was thinking.

"I should make it home well enough, Miss Sarah, thank you again for the hospitality. Extend that to our hostess too, if you will."

"Thank you, I'm sure she would like that." He had just scored a few points there, and he knew it. Well, that was one thing he could manage that Jareth would not even attempt. Common courtesy with those he considered beneath him.

As he left, Duncan shot a hate-filled glare up toward the roof. If Jareth was struck by lightening then and there Duncan would have danced a happy jig. Unfortunately the elements refused to comply, and his walk home was no different than his walk over had been.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry about the delay, got a little bit of writer's block. I know this chapter isn't on par with some of my other ones and for that I apologize. It was an intermediate, and because it was a little short of my normal work I'll have some more out tomorrow or the next day. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews, it's for you I keep writing.**

**Jareth is soaking wet again. You can only imagine what that's going to do for his temper…hehe-- wait, I didn't mean it! Come on Jareth, you have to come down sooner or later….**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't wanna say I don't own 'the Labyrinth.' I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna and you can't make me so… there! Oh man… I said it… *sigh* Oh well, I own this plot-line, I'll be happy with that for now.**

* * *

**(Once again this story is rated 'M' for a reason so I must ask that anyone under 18 and/or averse to large doses of sensuality and dark humor go somewhere else. You will be missed, but I had to warn you. This will be the last warning, the ratings don't go down from this point.)**

* * *

_Duncan, claiming the name 'Cain' came to pay a call on Sarah. Add lots of male angst and a mouse, and you have the last encounter. Jareth, playing the part of the handyman, was sent up to the roof to mend it in the storm while Duncan announced his desire to 'court' Sarah for the length of her stay in Ireland. Now, after a filling and rather un-remarkable dinner, I give you chapter nine…_

* * *

**Knots and Kisses:**

Jareth was full, warm, and tired beyond comprehension. He hadn't plied his given trade in years, and honestly he could not recall a time when he had been asked to mend a roof while it was raining. It was a novel experience, and he had done a thorough job of the repairs to make sure he would not be called upon to do them again.

He stretched, pleased at the bed in the guest room. Of course it was half the size of his bed in the Underground, and the sheets were of linen rather than watered silk, but sacrifices had to be made. This made him think of his hair, and Jareth's good mood evaporated.

In the room next door, Sarah was fast asleep. He could feel it, like little ripples along his spine. She was dreaming of him. It wasn't magic, he realized with a wolfish smirk, that bound them. If it had been, it would no longer exist, as he had been stripped of his powers when he had been dropped into this realm. So, their tie was something more, something greater than magic, and yet, so vulnerable…

Already what had once been a strong tie between them was now a slim thread like gossamer, beautiful, and fragile, and so important… He knew that if he allowed himself to sleep he would join her. It was the way of things. Truly bonded Fey couples were never apart, so great was their love and their need for one another. It was hard for him, denying the siren call of sleep.

His body was weary from long hours of manual labor in the rain. His mind was spinning with possibilities and ways to secure the outcome most desired; Sarah's love. With a full stomach and a warm bed, it was a combination that even the Fey King could not--or would not--resist.

His eyes drifted shut, and like a rock dropped into water, he was pulled deeper and deeper until he didn't know which way was up…

* * *

They twirled around and around, like beautiful and frightening tops. Their masks were both fierce and mocking, and she lifted her chin. She had been afraid once, afraid of them, and of the emotions that they evoked within her. They were just Revelers: dancers and drinkers, merrymakers of all kinds. She didn't comprehend it all at sixteen, but now it was clear. She wasn't afraid of these men and women, she was afraid of her own desires to join them.

Her gown was different, as well. It seemed that when she remembered her dreams, it gave her a little power within them. Instead of the silver concoction of fluff and glitter, she wore a long silver sheath, fitted to her body, flared slightly in the legs so she could move without difficulty. The top flowed over assets that time had bestowed generously, like water down rock.

Someone offered her a hand, and she took it. The Reveler was wearing a snake's mask, eyes slit and almond, pointed upward at the outer edges. He moved like a sake as well, sinuous and smooth. It felt as though he was gliding her about the room rather than taking steps, as mortals would.

As quickly as he had offered his hand, he was gone from her, and Sarah was again alone in a sea of faces. This time there was no blue velvet tunic, no haunting eyes, no promise at the end of the struggle. She felt the loss keenly.

A few women, three to count, grasped her about the waist and dragged her to a table. She was pulled into the lap of one, another began tying knots in the smooth fall of her hair. The third was making comments and gestures that had Sarah blushing, though she couldn't understand the language. Their nature was obvious. One of the men at the table disentangled himself from the arms of his female companion and reached out, trailing a finger over the bare skin of her inner arm. Sarah recoiled.

She was here for another, she told him, in the strange silence. It was a ball, she had danced to music… and yet there had never been sound. There had never been a voice for their wordless exchanges. She might never have noticed the fact, but for the soft strains of song she heard now. And with the music came the voices of the Revelers, and with their voices came the knowledge that _he_ was there, that she was not wandering alone any longer.

She looked down at her bare feet on the white marble floor, knowing that the Revelers had set her aside. She was no longer one of their number. She was even ousted from the lap she had been given to use as a chair. Forced to her feet again, Sarah moved forward, knowing nothing but the search.

The song was different. It was all she knew for a long, sluggish moment. It was not a memory, no, this was something different, something less, and something more. Things were not always what they seemed, she recalled, lighthearted again.

Someone took her hand, whirling her faster and faster, until she became giddy with the pace, and the ever-changing faces before her. She didn't see whether he wore a mask or not over his face, it didn't matter to her. He was not the one she was looking for. She broke away, leaving the man bereft. She moved forward, and another clasped her about the waist, lifting her high. Sarah tossed her head back, her long hair cascading in waves to her waist.

Someone, presumably her partner, kissed the offered skin of her neck, and she gave them a glare. No, she was not for him. No. She moved forward again, the pace getting faster, the tempo throbbing in her veins, like lyrical fire. She took three steps forward, was whisked off her feet, and spun. She was placed down again she didn't know which direction she had been going, and which was the way back.

Still she pressed on. When she was seized again, and lifted, she used the height to look for him. She thought she saw to top of his head, that true silver-and-gold that she had never seen before and never would again. And so that was the direction she headed.

Swans and fawn and bears and dragons barred her path. Some, men and women alike, were more than pleased to waylay her with hungry hands, and hungrier eyes. She moved past them all.

One man grasped her about the shoulders and the waist from behind, pressing her against his chest. He swayed, and she followed the movements, only once before tearing away. When she spun to give him a reprimand, he was gone. Another hand lay upon her shoulder, and she spun to face her would be partner, rejection on her lips.

It died as she met his eyes. Those ever-changing eyes, now settled on deep blue. He didn't speak, and neither did she. They didn't need to speak. She smiled at him, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her hand trailing over his defined cheekbone. He caught it in his own, offering her a look that told her everything she could have wanted to know. When she made as though to speak he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

He swept them forward, and she followed. Others fell away, leaving them alone on the floor. They watched as their King, the man with shorn hair wearing a plain white shirt and black leggings tucked into tall boots and not a single bit of glitter, danced with a beautiful mortal. They should have known right away that she was no simple Reveler. Indeed, she had been too reluctant, too shy. But with their King she was shy no longer. She was like a candle, shining and bright in her purity.

"_If I speak, will something happen?"_ She was staring into his eyes, and was intrigued as they widened, shifting into an impish green.

"_Ah, so she finally reaches out."_ The sound of his voice in her head was more intimate than any caress or kiss she had received here, and she bit her lower lip, looking at her bare feet. His hand, without it's usual glove, lifted her chin gently, until their eyes met. Where their skin touched she tingled.

"_Do not be shy with me, Sarah. I created this world for you once, I know what you wished, and what you dreamed. But I see some things have changed since then…"_ His eyes skimmed the room, the Revelers who were more sensual than mocking, her own attire, and the attributes that it covered. When he met her eyes again it was with a wicked hunger, one that shone brighter than any of the looks she had received before, in dreams and outside as well.

"_Some things _have_ changed, Goblin King."_ As he swept her into a graceful arch, she relaxed in his arms, allowing her to be drawn closer and closer into his chest. The hand that had been resting at her hip slid around to the full flare of her waist, the hand that was in the middle of her back slid up to cup the nape of her neck. One by one the Revelers ceased to exist, and the music grew slow, almost haunting. She knew this song, she remembered it. But the Goblin King didn't sing to her now, no, he was far too intent on her face to think about anything else.

They swayed, gently, and then not at all, the pretense of dancing escaping them. She lifted a cautious hand to his cheek, and he caught it in his own half-way to it's destination. He turned her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, letting his tongue dart out to taste the softness of her skin. It made Sarah's toes curl, and she blushed.

She moved to pull away, recalling all of the things that had brought them here. He held her still, unwilling to lose her touch when he had been deprived of it for so many years. More years for him than for her, as time in the Underground was fickle.

"_Please, Precious One, just another moment in your arms, and I will leave you if you ask it. But do not ask me to lose you again so soon."_

Hearing him say 'please' was what did it. The Goblin King was lost to her that moment as she met the eyes of the man with short hair and callus' reforming from fighting with a hammer all afternoon. She tilted her head back, and went up on tip-toes, her own half-closed eyes meeting his for a time-stopping instant. "_Jareth…"_

He met her, pressed against her lips with his, unable or unwilling to give her anything less than all of his passion, his love. He nipped very gently at her lower lip, as he had been wanting to do since the first time he watched her do it, and she gasped in shock and pleasure. He took advantage of that moment, pressing deeper into the kiss, his tongue teasing her own.

She was shy at first, almost timid. And then, like a dam bursting under the burden of it's load, she pressed forward with a mewling sound, and thrust her tongue against his. Her hands tangled, one in the cloth of his shirt, the other in his soft, thick hair. But Jareth, not a new hand at passion by any measures, let his roam.

One ran the length of her back, fisting in her hair briefly. He enjoyed the shiver that chased down her spine, and so intrigued by it was he that he followed the path of that shiver to her waist. His other hand tipped up her chin, tearing their lips apart so he could claim the creamy skin of her throat. It was deeply arousing to feel her pulse pounding under his lips.

He groaned, and she jumped. Her hands unfisted, and moved to his shoulders. He waited for her to decide what she was going to do. Was she going to embrace him, pull him closer, or was she going to push him away?

He eased back slowly, watching the play of emotion on her expressive face, in her deep emerald eyes. She smiled slowly, drawing him closer, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder. He looked down on her and cursed the force of the reaction she inspired within him. The evidence of it was pressing against the confines of his pants, and relief was not in sight. He sighed in acceptance.

"_Not bad, for a first kiss."_

His heart skipped a beat, and then began to race again. He had been the one to give her this first taste of passion. It made something in him call out in joy, in possession. His Owl, nestled deep inside, was content with his choice. Sarah was his, whether she knew it or not.

She drew back to meet his eyes, and she smiled slowly, timidly. He could see what she wanted, could feel it in the shy way she eased into him. He could have given her the moon and the stars in that instant, gladly, and never again would he need to look into the night sky.

"Jareth, I want to--" Her words shattered the dream, and she was torn from his arms. Their hands caught, for a brief instant, as the edges of their worlds bled into white emptiness. The ballroom ceased to be, all that one could know of the other were their hands, clasped tightly together. But even that connection was severed, the pull on both too strong for the other to hold on.

Their hands fell apart, and both were thrust into other dreams, dreams that were nothing more and nothing less.

* * *

She woke the next morning to the sound of water running down the hall. She smiled and stretched lazily, content with the memories of the dream from the night before. She looked over at the alarm clock, and paused. Her hair had knots in it, four precise knots in a single strand. She recalled a woman tying them, ignoring her warning glares.

She rose from bed and used the mirror to untie them, on by one. It was then that she caught sight of the slight discoloration of her lips, slightly swollen and a darker shade than usual. She ran her fingers over them in wonder, and confusion. The child within her wanted to pound on the bathroom door and demand answers. Child-Sarah was more than content to believe that the Goblin King had been playing a game with her, using her. The adult simply refused to believe the accusations.

She met her reflection, looked it full in the face, and smiled.

Some dreams, she had decided years ago, aren't meant to be. Others, she amended, picking out the clothes she would wear that day, just took a little while to come true. They were probably all worth the wait. Waiting for his kiss had been worth five years twice over.

Still unsure whether or not her dream had actually happened, Sarah went into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom and turned on the hot water. His loud yelp and string of curses echoed down the hall, and she smiled. Either way, it was going to be a great morning.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I have to tell you I love my readers! You know I almost thought about that, having the mouse bite Duncan, and then awarding him a piece of cheese and a place by the fire with a blanket. Oh well, lol…**

**Well here's your first taste of lemon, small and chaste though it was. I decided to give the faint of heart just one more chance to turn away, and find another fan fiction, while giving my mature readers a little glimpse into the passion that flares to life whenever Sarah and Jareth are alone together…**

**Sarah is pleased with herself, and after Jareth recovers from the burst of cold water, he'll be fine as well. It's refreshing, not having our Goblin King in a state of rebellion. One can only wonder how long it will last… Until next time,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own 'the Labyrinth', but I do have a computer and patience, so I'm gonna borrow the characters for a few minutes. Do sit back and enjoy the show…**

* * *

_Sarah was introduced to the power of dreams when she was joined by Jareth in her own adult version of her crystal ballroom dream. They might have shared more than a single kiss, but Sarah's words shattered the dream, leaving her to wonder whether it was a dream, or something more…? And where, oh where, is Duncan?_

* * *

**Storms and Veils:**

"Ye did a wonderful job with the roof, Jareth, and I hate te ask more of ye…"

Jareth fought the curse rising in his chest. He would be damned if he was going out into that rain _again_, two days in a row. As a Fey he was less susceptible to illnesses, but as a King he had his pride. Still he quirked a brow in question, waiting for the woman to continue.

"…but would ye please take Sarah into town for some groceries? She knows what te get, but I just couldna' think te send her to fetch them alone. Not in this weather, and not with-- well suffice te say, 'tisn't safe fer a lady te be alone right now."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. She knew more than she was telling… He shook off the demands for answers, knowing that he didn't have the rights he so strongly desired here. Without his powers he could no more dip her into the Bog of Eternal Stench than he could sprout wings and fly.

At the reminder his Owl grew just that much more restless. Being Aboveground and unable to fly was causing his inner beast a good deal of aggravation.

Taking his silence as refusal, Sarah stood, her breakfast forgotten. Her good mood had disappeared as well, at his lack of response. If he didn't want to be around her then fine, she could live without him. She had done it for five years already, she could do it for ten more, or twenty… It didn't matter to--

Her inner rant was cut short at the feeling of his bare hand on her wrist. "It would be my pleasure to take you, Sarah." Her pulse jumped at the feel of his skin against hers and his use of her name. It reminded her of the dream--was it a dream?--that she had the night before. It was still vivid in her mind.

And had that been a double entendre? No, surely he only meant that he wanted to take her to the… store… The longer she held his gaze, the less she believed her own rationalizations. There was clearly something sinful, something wicked and wonderful, on this man's mind.

"Well then, 'tis all settled. I think there is an umbrella in the front closet fer ye both te share, so long as ye don't mind it." Miss O'Fallon shot Sarah a wink, and retreated behind the kitchen door.

"I don't mind sharing, do you?" He stood, his height intimidating Sarah in a way it hadn't when she was sixteen. Then he had been the captor, the man keeping Toby from her. Now… what was he now? The words escaped her, and she shook her head to clear her mind. The physical act was one of habit, and Jareth smiled, releasing her wrist slowly.

When she caught sight of that smile, one that was more smirk than smile, she knew that he was genuinely pleased. He thought he had already won. Sarah had just enough guile in her, just enough feminine pride to want to give the arrogant Fey King a run for his money, so to speak.

She tugged on the heavy overcoat that waited for her by the door, covering her soft dove grey sweater. It was long enough, in fact, that it covered most of her black slacks, stopping just short of her heavy winter boots.

He tugged on his jacket, the one from the day before, not even five feet away. She jabbed him with her elbow once, on accident, trying to get into one of the sleeves. His 'oomph' was given with a glare, and Sarah bit her lip to keep from laughing. Accidents happen, she said, with no absence of mirth.

When he opened the door, Sarah knew her laughter was dead. It was tossing hail, the ground so muddy that it looked like swamp more than earth. She stepped down, intending to follow the stepping stones. Her foot slipped right of the milky rock, burying her foot to the ankle in muck and causing her to flail to try to catch her balance.

Behind her Jareth laughed, deeply and fully in that rich timbre that would usually curl her toes. As he reached out to steady her, she shot him a glare over her shoulder. Her pants were already soaked, she now had mud in her boot, and Jareth was laughing at her.

Had it really been only this morning that she had predicted a good day?

Shaking his head, Jareth swept her quite literally off of her feet. "City boots will do you no good out here, where weather actually happens." His tone was smug. What did he know about Irish weather? A part of her demanded to know. When she needed help kidnapping a child, then she'd ask. And so she pouted, all the way to the cobblestone sidewalk.

When he set her down her slipped his arm through hers. Her warning glare was deflected easily enough. "I'm making sure that you don't slip and fall on that pert little nose of yours, Precious. You could a least thank me for my consideration."

When Sarah narrowed her eyes, about to deliver a scathing retort, he laughed, taking all the pleasure out of her reply. She would cheerfully strangle him after they were home, safe and warm at Miss O'Fallon's fireplace.

They made it three-quarters of the way to the general supplies store when he stopped her, a hand steady on her elbow. She would never know that he had seen Duncan coming their direction, never know that it was as much the claim of his Owl as his own desire that made him swoop down and capture her lips, stopping her chattering all at once.

It was like being tossed into the fire after knowing only ice. It was welcome, so welcome, and it burned at the same time. She sighed, easing into him before she could even think properly. It was no chaste kiss, this, nothing patient or soothing. There was nothing of comfort or careful coercion. This was a kiss a man gave his beloved. This was passion, and it called to her own desires, buried so deep under her shell.

He tilted her head back, the soft, wet length of his hair brushing one cheek. He nipped her lower lip between his teeth, and, while it was so captured, he ran his tongue along it. She shivered, but not from the freezing cold around them. When she mimicked the action, he groaned aloud, pulling her flush against him, burying her face in the hollow of her shoulder where she had placed it before.

Only the heavy pulse of the rain and the occasional clot of hail reminded them that they were not, after all, alone. That there was something outside of the two of them.

"You shattered our dream, Sarah. You spoke. Now, tell me, what was it you wanted from me?"

_You know. You know what I want, because you want it too. I can feel that you want me._ The realization made her pull away and glare up into his eyes. "How do I know what you feel? How did you get into my dreams?" She backed away, almost tripping over the umbrella she had dropped when he had kissed her. She kicked it out of the way, and it floated on the current created by the sidewalk and the rain. She didn't care that it was probably lost to her now.

"Sarah, I have no magic now--"

"No magic? Just enough to sneak into my private dreams, just enough to seduce me against my will. Just enough to make me feel what you're feeling!"

Jareth looked one direction, then the other. No one was watching, no one was out. It was enough for him. He moved forward, hunter stalking prey. She retreated, but with her head held high and a challenging glare in those deep emerald eyes. They were no longer 'pale jewels', no longer a hint of what would be. No, they were more. She had grown into the promise he had seen in her youthful self.

And she was his.

"If I had magic, would I be walking around in this bloody storm? Would I have allowed that--that… _woman_ to chop off my hair? Would I be mending holes in roofs for dinner when I could be dining, labor-free, on whatever I desired?" He caught her then, as she stumbled backward. It seemed his patience was at an end, for the way he held her shoulders, keeping her as close as he could manage and still see her face.

"Once more, I have done it all for you. And once more, you were ungrateful. You just expected me to bend and bend and bend, to make all of the sacrifices in the world to please you. And I would, Sarah, I would do everything you desired and more. But what would you give me in return? You would accuse me, you would make me a villain, even when I have no power over you. Do you not recall that, Precious One?"

He didn't shake her. His hands, while firm on her shoulders, were not bruising in their possession. He was furious, yes, but more, he was hurt. The child in Sarah wanted to demand more answers, wanted to pout, wanted to insist that he wasn't being fair. But he was, and the adult Sarah knew it. He had done all he could for her, given her everything he could…

"We are bonded, Precious One, tied together. Your life is affixed to mine. I had to do it, to keep you. The glass…" He broke off, clearly displeased at his show of emotion. He eased her under the overhang of a closed shop, and released her, running a hand through his soaking hair in frustration. It was such a human action that Sarah smiled slowly.

Memories, still denied, washed over her, colder and sharper than glass. Oh, glass…

She had been trapped under the weight of the mirror, pinned, with no way out. She could feel herself bleeding, feel her skin growing ever colder. She had reached out to the only light in the darkness, spoke the only name she could recall._ His_ name.

And then she had been warm, and comfortable. She should have known then that something had changed. So, he had bonded their lives together? He had tied their life-spans? Would she live as long as he did? Is that what he meant? Was that why he could walk in her dreams? Was that the reason he made her feel so much?

"I never meant to hurt you, Sarah. This was my last chance. Say it again, and I'll leave you." He stood away from her, out in the rain. He was rigid, his eyes skimming the distance. They were gold, like she recalled. And he felt so… sad. So lost.

She stood, her footsteps silent in the pouring rain around them. "I can't. I mean, I _can_, but--" she reached out a hand, intending to lay it on his shoulder, to comfort him, or to turn him. He walked forward, further into the rain. Sarah stomped her foot in childish frustration, making water splash around her in a broad circle.

"Damnation woman, I--" He spun, and saw the look on her face. Shock. And laughter. He knelt slowly, his love of games rising, even though he was not sure that she wouldn't, at any moment, send him back to the Underground, more broken and alone than he had been when last she left him. He scooped up half-formed slush in his hand, cupping it with a considering look in his eyes, quicksilver rather than gold now.

Her eyes grew wide. "Wait, you don't want to do that, really… Jareth!" The last was a squeal as she tried to turn and run. The half-hail-half-slush hit her in the middle of the back and she froze in shock.

_Here it comes,_ Jareth thought. But to his surprise, it wasn't anger on her face when she spun towards him. It was laughter, and challenge. She knelt, scooped, and threw all in one practiced motion. It hit him in the shoulder, and Jareth laughed, even as he darted out across the street, into a field frozen over in a late winter storm. She followed.

She ducked behind an old abandoned tool shed, gathering snow as fast as she could. Real flakes had begun falling, intermingled with their larger, harder counterparts. "Your aim was off, Sarah. While your hiding you might want to work on that." His taunt made her smirk, a very new expression for her.

She darted out and hit him in the chest, and was pelted by another snowball in return. She ran for the next line of shelter, a half-chopped and dying tree. Jareth simply stood, out in the middle of the field, leaving himself open for attack.

A great battle ensued, Jareth and Sarah hurling insults as well as make-shift snowballs. She darted from one hiding place to the next until she was breathless from laughter and exercise. Expecting him to remain in the center of the field, Sarah was surprised to feel him tap her on the shoulder. She looked up from her hoard of half-formed snowballs in shock.

He was smiling broadly as he dropped a large snowball down the open front of her jacket. Sarah tackled him, and in an instant they were both covered in slush and water, with snow still falling around them, heavier by the minute. Both knew they should go somewhere warm, that they could very easily get sick. But, lying side by side in rest after the 'great battle', they didn't really care.

"Are you going to say the words, Sarah?"

"Not today."

And as much as Jareth wanted to press her for an answer, he didn't. Not that soon, he told himself. It was enough, for now, to have moments like this, moments he had never known before. Not since he was a child.

He stood and offered her a hand, and together they walked to the general supplies store. They got several confused looks on the way there, and a few more when they actually arrived. Neither truly cared. Too cold, and too tired to walk back, Sarah asked the owned of the store if they had a cab service. Surprisingly enough the owner's son drove the only cab in town, and was more than happy to give them a ride back, at half-fare.

"Canna' have ye both catchin' a frost, now can we? Maeve would kill the lot of us." Had been his rather determined reply.

* * *

How had Jareth done it? Obviously the High Council had given him permission to pass, but still, there should have been no way for him to pass the barriers. If this was just a temporary arrangement, his passing into the mortal realm and then out of it, they would have set an sort of timer on the portal to and from the Underground. But if this trip was not timed, if there was no limit to the days and nights Jareth had to woo and win his mortal Queen, how would they measure the length of time needed to hold the veil open?

It was almost too much to comprehend.

He looked around the large manor house, and shivered. There was a fire blazing in the hearth, and his human servants darted this way and that, ignorant of his loss of magic. They would serve him faithfully and fearfully, because he allowed nothing less.

When He had approached Miss O'Fallon this morning at her garden gate she had quite simply turned him away. Told him his kind was not welcome, and that she had sprinkled the entrance with salt. Oh, how he had laughed. Salt could not bind him to or from a place, if it was his wish to enter or leave. But he had left at any rate. If the older woman knew what he was, then it would not be long before she told Sarah.

_Not that it mattered_, his inner voice snarled. They had been kissing in the middle of the road, uncaring of who saw them! She hadn't been fighting him, If anything, she had been clinging. Something about the sight had roused Duncan, made the chase more challenging, the end result far sweeter. But the rest of him, the part that could still reason normally…

No. All that mattered was the challenge, and the prize. If she responded that way to the Goblin King, the one that had stolen away her brother, forced her through hardships and dangers abound, she would be like fire in his arms. She would be the Sun itself!

He glared out the window into the snow. Soon enough he would figure out the laws of the veils. He was closer now than ever before. Jareth's arrival meant more than he or the High Council had probably realized. If Jareth had come through into the mortal realm, as Duncan had centuries ago, then just as Jareth would be allowed into the Underground again, there was a way for Duncan to do the same.

To return to the Underground, to return to Elyse, was all he wanted. Sarah was but a candle to the light that was his Elyse.

His Elyse, married to another man. Married by the King of the realm himself, Jareth Adaire Danube Galen of the house of Crenalion. Vengeance was long overdue, but it would be sweet. Duncan stood and paced into the library, determined to discover the names that the veil responded to. There was magic in a true name, he knew.

And he had time enough. For a Fey, time was fickle, but it was infinite.

* * *

"Did she say it?" Fick asked, eagerly.

"No she didn't say it, fool!" They stirred restlessly, shivering between worlds.

"Is she _ever _going to say it?" His whining tone was grating on the nerves, and Peck frowned.

"The King of the Fey will make her say it." But as he watched them play in the snow, Peck grew uneasy. The King he knew would have made her bend to his will by now, would demand her compliance. There was only one problem. The King Peck knew would not _be_ romping around in the snow with the dark-haired mortal in the first place.

"Well, time is--"

"Shut up, Fick." Peck shifted restlessly.

"Dounacain will--"

This time Fick was silenced not by a sharp command, but by the quick descent of a large branch. With his loud comrade unconscious, Peck looked to his other companions. They didn't speak, and Peck smiled. Silence at last.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hey guys, just wanted to remind you all that I don't have a beta, so please stick with me through the spelling errors and grammatical issues… it's just me over here. Again I wanted to thank my reviewers, reading what you have to say makes my day so much better. I love hearing from all of you.**

**Hang in there for the next chapter, I usually get them out pretty quickly. Meanwhile I have to dry out Sarah and Jareth before they get pneumonia, and since I can barely spell the word I wouldn't like to have to nurse them through it.**

**Until next time,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own 'the Labyrinth', the characters within it, or the story-line. But I am shamelessly borrowing aspects thereof and therein. Hehe**

* * *

_On a walk in the storm Jareth and Sarah share a kiss, and then Sarah confronts him about his presence in her dreams. Jareth tells her that this was his last chance to have her, and that if she says that he has no power over her once again, he will be forced to leave her alone Aboveground for the rest of her life. Their argument is dispelled when Sarah stomps in a puddle, and she and the King of the Fey are swept into a snowball fight. Somewhere outside of the village Duncan is stirring up trouble while the Goblins watch it all from their place beyond the veil._

* * *

**Dreams:**

Sarah was laughing, and Jareth lifted an eyebrow in consideration. Seeing her face in fury was amazing. Seeing it last night in passion had been arousing. Watching her laugh, as she had done over and over again today, was like the sun pouring down, even in the middle of the storm.

He opened the door for her, and she thanked him shyly. What had he done? He had opened the door for her, as any gentleman should. But, as many other things he had discovered, men here were not gentlemen for the most part. No wonder Sarah was so hesitant to keep such a creature as these mortal men.

She stopped short of actually entering the house, and his front bumped against her smaller form.

"I don't want to track water around the entire house... Miss O'Fallon wouldn't be happy about that, I think." Almost before she had finished the last word, Miss O'Fallon emerged on the other side of the room from the laundry room.

"Och, what happened te the two of ye? Yer soaked clean through!" It was dismay rather than anger on her features, even when she remarked that they had lost the umbrella. Jareth could see that Sarah had relaxed at the tone of their hostess' voice. "Well I suppose there is no helpin' it now. Go on up then, the both of ye, and try no te track too much water in while yer--"

Rather than fighting with her, Jareth scooped Sarah up mid-sentence so she wouldn't expect it. When he caught the glare she was sending him, he smirked. "Well, we will track less water if we go up like this. And was it not _you're_ boot that was filled with mud? Now I doubt Miss O'Fallon wishes to clean mud out of her carpets."

"He is right, Miss Sarah, and after all, yer rooms are but a few feet away. He's not goin' too far out of his way fer ye. And it would save me a good deal of time bent over on me back, scrubbin' mud from carpets."

It was enough. Jareth knew when he saw the sigh leave Sarah's lips. He started up the stairs, reminding himself that the fifth one up still creaked terribly. When he caught Miss O'Fallon's eye he nearly dropped the bundle on his arms. The older woman actually winked at him!

* * *

Maeve busied herself in making cabbage and corned beef for dinner. It was simple enough, and hearty too boot. It was just what those two needed to warm up after their romp in the rain.

Part of her thrilled in their closeness, in the love apparent between the two. Jareth seemed to have resigned to it, but Sarah… Miss Sarah was an odd lass. She had requested that the mirrors be removed or covered, and yet, when a mirror had come un-veiled she had stared at herself as though she had grown a second head. And then when Maeve went up to tidy the room, all of the mirrors had been uncovered.

Then there was the little issue of the rings Sarah was wearing. She was wearing two, one on the ring finger of either hand. The one on the right was simple silver, that much Maeve knew without really looking. But the one on her left hand, now that was something different. A single emerald, round-cut, flanked by only slightly smaller diamonds and set in white-gold. She was certain.

It would have been nothing, nothing at all, but for the fact that Jareth was wearing a matching ring on his left hand. None of the gems, no, for all the lad's dramatic flair, it was a plain band, with the same engravings as the one Sarah wore.

Neither had their full memory, they claimed, but they recalled each other immediately. Maeve had never seen amnesia, only heard stories and read romance novels about it. Lost weary traveler finds an old bed and breakfast, and is greeted by the only face he can recall--

She had always wanted to be a writer. It had been that secret passion, deep within her that she kept hidden from the world. She knew that she could do it, she had been spinning tales since before she could write them down. But reality, and money, tore that dream from her. Writing cost money to begin with, and it didn't come over night. She simply didn't have the luxury of waiting.

As she finished cleaning her knives, she thought back to the couple up stairs. She was a very religious woman, and so she believed fully that relations before marriage was a sin; but there was no doubt in her mind that if those two were not married, they would be soon. Very soon. And it was their immortal souls, after all, not her own.

Plus, she thought with a sigh, it was the closest thing to a romance novel she was likely to have over the next month or so. And their time was running out.

Duncan… 'Cain' as the rogue was calling himself… Had come calling for Sarah only that morning. She could not recall a time she hadn't known his kind. She had known it when she had looked upon him in the village, pretending to be an old man. She had seen it when he had come to her front door baring roses. She had seen it on him for a long time.

This place had held Fae blood before. The blood of Kings had been raised here within these walls. She was reverent enough to know that times and places drew like souls together, over and over again. There were memories in these walls, in the wooden planks of the floors… who was she to stop what was written in the stars?

With a long stretch, Maeve thought back to the couple upstairs. She heard the water come on in one bathroom, and then in the other. She knew the Fae Folk when they walked up to her doorstep, that was to be sure, but she would rather have a useful vagabond with gaps in his memories than a malicious, arrogant rogue who made advances toward all of the young women in the village, taken or otherwise.

She wondered briefly if Jareth would notice that none of the fixtures were iron-processed, and if he would appreciate the all-wood furniture. A wicked thought crossed her mind and Maeve laughed. She was sure Sarah would.

* * *

It was not the ballroom this time, but rather the Hall of Stairs. She could recall, clearly, Toby as an infant. He was in school now, halfway across the world… She shivered when she felt warm breath on the back of her neck.

His arms encircled her waist, drawing her back against him. Sarah relaxed, but only for a moment. Just long enough to feel his warmth, and the beat of his heart.

"_I have questions, Jareth."_

"_Why am I not surprised… Come then, Sarah-mine, and we will have your conversation." _She followed as he led, up one staircase, down another, up this one, down two more flights… She was getting dizzy, looking up at the place they had been only moments ago. It jutted out like a balcony, except that anyone standing on it would be defying gravity and would appear to be walking on a wall.

She was altogether surprised when, after what seemed like hours of walking, they ended up on the same landing as they had been before they had begun walking at all.

"_All of that for a lousy circle?" _Her voice was petulant, and when Jareth looked over his shoulder and smirked at her, she could have cursed.

"_Is that 'not fair', Sarah?" _The laughter in his tone should have annoyed her. Instead it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, made her want to shiver. It had swept over her like a caress, and she narrowed her eyes in his direction. He stepped closer to her, backing her up against a wall, step by step. He planted a hand over her shoulder against the wall, effectively caging her in.

His other hand, covered in a soft leather glove, as he usually would wear, descended upon her shoulder. It ran up the slope of her collarbone to the curve of her neck… and Sarah did shiver, her eyes falling to half-mast. They were only half-open, and it was still enough to see his passion. The desire that shot across his eyes, eyes now deep, bottomless grey, like smoke.

His hand traced her jaw line, tipping her neck up for a second as he fanned his thumb over her racing pulse. She licked suddenly-dry lips, and he almost gave in to the urge to kiss her. Sarah could feel the tension in him. He eased in slowly, the hand by her shoulder moving ever downward, slowly…

His lips were but a breath from hers when his hand closed over the doorknob there. Invisible to mortal eyes, but clearly there for the rest of his kingdom. He gave the knob a desperate twist, knowing that if he kissed her now, he might not ever have the strength to show her, to tell her the things he had brought her here to see.

When the door opened she lost balance, and he caught her, tugging her flush against himself. It was a vastly un-intelligent move, one that wiped all thought from his mind. She was wearing that same outfit she had as a teenager, fashioned to fit her now adult form. It was too thin a barrier.

If she hadn't tugged away from him in a fit of temper they would have had some rather interesting decisions to make. Instead Jareth faced his fears and turned on the lights, simply by wishing them to be on. The door behind him shut, and Sarah's eyes grew wide.

The room itself wasn't what fascinated Sarah. It was a soft tone of grey-blue, one lost to man some time ago. It was the faces staring out at her from hundreds of tiny portraits that she thought was so intriguing. There had to be hundreds of them…

"_They are my family, the lot of them. Try not to think too long on what they say, hmm? Could drive you insane, if you let them." _His tone was sharp, and when Sarah looked at him, she sighed. He looked horribly unhappy, and she hated seeing him this way. She didn't know why, after he had put her through the Labyrinth, but she felt like she needed to protect him. The urge to comfort was there, so she went to him.

"_We can go somewhere else." _She laid her hand in his, and he smiled, pleased that she wanted to soothe him.

"_There are other places I can show you, Precious, this was just where I had to start. The hardest place for me." _He squeezed her hand, and frowned, looking down. He lifted her hand, and his eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline. He lifted her hand, so the both of them could see the shining band. _"Where did you get this_?" The walls shook, the ground shook beneath them.

"_I… I found it. It was after my first best-seller, and it was in a box in my hotel room, a blue box, white ribbon…" _She trailed off. It hung in the air between them.

"_You thought it was from me?"_

"_I… I didn't remember you, not at the time, but maybe it crossed my mind since I got my memory back. I only started wearing it when I left the states. I had lost it, you see, and just found it again before the plane left… There was a note." _She searched her clothes, then laughed at the foolishness of the action.

Jareth, far from laughter, waved his hand. _"Do you recall what it said?"_

"_It was written in a really flowing script, like… nothing I had ever seen before. It said… I really don't remember."_

"_Damnation…" _He raked a hand through his hair, vastly irritated. _"Try… this is, after all, a dream. You can call the paper to you, if you wished it." _His rough tone made her scowl.

"_I suppose it's just going to fall out of the sky like confetti?" _At her sharp words something like the crack of thunder echoed, and then the roof opened up, and indeed, confetti did rain down, landing in their hair, and on their clothing, pooling at their feet. For long moment neither spoke, unwilling to lose eye contact. It was like a staring contest. Jareth gave in first, picking a piece of paper off of it's perch on Sarah's vest.

The paper was only about two inches wide, and a half-inch tall. Upon it, in flowing script, read: Amháin lómhara*. Jareth rubbed his eyes in frustration. Was this some type of joke?

"_I didn't know I could do that." _Her voice was small, it was the closest thing to an apology he was likely to get. Some perverse part of him made him smile. She was still his Sarah, under the years, and the grace that those years had gifted. She was still his defiant Sarah.

"_This is your dream, Sarah. Pray we do not end up in one of mine."_

Rather than address the insinuation in his words, Sarah preferred a different route. _"So what does it mean? The words. I could never read them. I thought, at first, that it was left for me by an admirer. I sent out inquiries, and didn't wear it in public. Then I asked about it in lost and found. My agent sent out a staff member to see if I had a stalker… nothing. As far as anyone could tell, it was just… there. I didn't ever ask to have it translated. It's in Irish, isn't it?"_

"_Gaelic," _he corrected, absentmindedly.

"_So, you didn't send it to me?" _She moved, completely intent on tugging the thing off. His hand halted her. It was bare. With an ironic twist of the lips, he lifted their hands up for her inspection. There on his hand was a white-gold band with the same strange engravings as her own.

_"Jareth, I don't understand…"_

"_Neither do I, but I intend to find out." _He stepped closer, uncaring that the tiny slips of paper were still falling around them. _"Kiss me once more before I go, Sarah?"_

At their embrace, the people in the pictures gave a mass cheer, laughter and cat-calls audible from their diminutive forms. Sarah was reluctant to let go, wondering what would change when he found out the meaning of their rings. She really and truly hoped that she hadn't done anything wrong. She had just gotten used to the idea of him in her life, the idea that maybe, villain though he was, there might be more to him.

She wanted to keep him. The admission made her break away with a small smile. "Goodnight Jareth."

* * *

Torn from the dream, Jareth shot upright in his bed. He still felt the pull of her, fast asleep in the next room. She was dreaming, and thinking of him. It was a temptation he had to avoid, at least until he knew what in the seventh Fey Ring was going on.

"Galen! Father, I need to speak with you."

It was a few moments before the member of the High Council appeared, immaculate in his appearance, and seeming quite bored. "You bellowed, Jareth?"

"What is the meaning of this?" He gestured to his own ring, one he knew very well he hadn't been wearing when he stepped through the veil, let alone the other day when he had been working on the roof. It was the ring that announced his station, one that held no real meaning here in the Aboveground.

"You were taking too long. The veil is being toyed with, and if you aren't back in our realm with your bride in tow within the week there will be no way to guarantee that either of you will pass through again. Someone is toying with the very fabric that makes up our worlds, and the veil is defending itself the only way it knows how. We are separating from the mortal realm entirely."

"So I have less than a week to convince her to love me, marry me, and be my queen? Why was I not told--"

"Ah yes, about that. You're sure she is the one you want, son?" Galen looked oddly paternal in that instant, and Jareth was vastly dismayed. He hadn't seen that expression since his mother had died.

"Sarah is the only one for me, Father. I would not have come here if I wasn't sure."

"Oh, very good then." Galen smiled, prepared to leave. "It would have been disastrous to bind you in marriage to a mortal you didn't truly wish to keep."

"We aren't married, Galen." There was warning in that tone, and question, in one.

"No, not legally, not yet. It hasn't been consummated. But the High Council decided to give you a gift to speed things on their way. There are documents in the mortal world, should you look for them. You're wed, my boy. Should I extend congratulations now, in case you cannot return to the Underground in time, or shall I wait until it is made official?" Galen brushed at the pocket of his long green tunic, awaiting a reaction. He got one.

Jareth sprang out of his bed, intent on murder. So the High Council had wed them, huh? And how was he supposed to explain this to Sarah, who was only now coming to terms with their past? She still hadn't decided whether or not she was coming with him!

Before he could wrap his hands around Galen's throat however, the older Fey simply blinked out of existence. Alone in the silence of the night, Jareth inspected his ring. "Some gift…" It would be a miracle if Sarah didn't kill him when he told her.

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**Author's Note:**

***Precious one**

**This chapter gave me some problems. In fact I edited it four times, trying to get it to sit right. I hope it doesn't seem too rushed to any of you, and I would love some input. If you have any questions about the rings, or anything else, please let me know so I can clarify it next chapter.**

**I'm sorry for the delay, I wrote this a while ago and would have posted it yesterday, but the site wasn't letting me... *sigh* oh well... sorry for the wait.**

**Thank you for reading,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: ****If I owned it would I be putting it on here for you all to read for free? Maybe… but not very likely. So there you go, I don't own 'the Labyrinth'.**

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_Jareth gets a rather interesting surprise from his Father and the High Council... Now how to tell Sarah…?_

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**Mornings of Gold:**

His foot swung irritably back and forth, like a cat flicking it's tail in displeasure. Before him was a goblet made of spun-glass, several delicious side meals, and a large roast pheasant. He knew that it wasn't going to taste like the roast fowl in the Underground, raised without chemicals and human interference. But it was going to be as close to the real thing as he could get, for now.

Oh yes, for now…

"You summoned me, Mr. Cain?" The speaker was pretty enough, her hair auburn, her eyes downcast and demure. Yes, she would do. She was well-rounded, limbs long and well-turned. She was not his Elyse, but she would do well enough. He hated to settle, and it seemed that he was doing a lot of it lately.

"Yes. Oh come now, pretty one, do not stare so hard at the ground. In fact, I give you the rest of the evening off. Come, sit with me and have something nourishing. I know you don't earn enough here to eat like this."

If his words embarrassed her, he couldn't tell. She eyed the table hungrily, but turned away. "I can't, Sir, I have to get home and make dinner for my husband and my daughters. They will not manage without me, I'm sure--"

"Come here, Miss Rhianne, I would have a word with you without the entire house learning of it." At his order several servants who had indeed been listening scurried off to do what he paid them to do. When the auburn haired Miss approached, Duncan stood and met her eye to eye. Another strike against her. His Elyse had grey eyes, like the sky overhead. This Rhianne had eyes like strong sherry.

"You live in the cottage I gave you, do you not? You and your husband and your daughters?"

She nodded, mute.

"And you earn a wage here, you and your husband alike. Do you not?"

"Yes, Sir, we do."

"Well now, don't you think that there is a little something missing in your debt? Surely you didn't think the house was a gift. You know what I am, Miss Rhianne. You work in the library, you study the portal, and the veil. What do you think would happen if I simply… snapped my fingers… and everything you had come to rely on was gone? Your job, your husbands job, the home your children live in, the money you use to buy food…?"

"Please, Mr. Cain, we are close to finding the source of the portal, we almost have it figured out--"

"Did I ask about the bedamned portal?!" His voice thundered throughout the dining room, and Rhianne winced. It pleased him, but not enough that he'd show it. "Now, you will sit, and you will eat. And afterwards you will accompany me upstairs. Your family will be sent some of this food, and your husband will be told that you were informing me of your progress. Unless, of course… you refuse?"

He lifted a hand, fingers poised to snap. He couldn't actually do it, not if he wished to win the deal with Jareth, but this weak, poor mortal wouldn't know that. Her fear was palpable, and he reveled in it. Oh, yes, she would do nicely…

"No! No, please, I don't refuse. I'll do whatever you need me to." She hung her head and sniffed, and he was sure she was fighting tears. They meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. She approached his side of the table, and let the other servants pile food on her plate. True to his word he ordered food to be sent him while she stayed, and a letter to be written to her husband.

They ate in silence, Rhianne with little appetite, despite the hunger she was growing used to. Her daughters wanted for nothing, and so she and her husband sometimes went without. Duncan knew this because he had been watching her for a little under a month. She had been selected, from the beginning, for her loyalty and her devotion to her family.

He smiled at the thought of the things she would soon be doing 'for her family.' He shivered in delight, eager for her to finish her meal. Maybe, if he was well-pleased, he would send her home with some of the gold he had hidden away. Maybe.

The night wore on, and she was good to her word. She did all that he asked, suffered degradation after degradation, all at his whim. She cried several tears, and made a hundred promises. A thousand pledges. But his words were not for her. Not at all. He had insisted that she close her eyes, and not open them. And he called her "Elyse", in a tone she didn't recognize.

There was not a single pleasure he didn't give, not a single one he didn't demand. She was violated and abused, and then cherished and pleasured again, all at his whim. When she had dared to cry out, whether in pain or pleasure, she had been struck. She wasn't allowed to speak, no, hers wasn't the voice he wished to hear. Just as hers was not the body he desired, her pledge not the one he craved.

When morning came she was a sobbing mess of nerves and strains, mental emotional and physical. Beside her in the large canopied bed Duncan stretched, and then rose, without any care for his nudity. From his drawers he retrieved a small pouch filled with gold coins. Enough to get her and her family far away from him. He never wanted to see or hear from her again.

"Go." He tossed it to her, turning his back on her as he went towards the bathroom. "Be gone before I get out of the shower, and be out of the house by day's end. It will not be there come tomorrow morning."

* * *

She closed her hand. Then opened it again. And then closed it. It was an endless cycle, open, close, open… She watched the light play on the emerald, watched the golden sunlight pouring across the room…

She had woken with a headache, hours ago, her memories almost entirely restored. There were only a few of the same gaps, places where she knew something was missing. It was with a wince that she stretched, her arms sore from throwing snowballs and carrying groceries. She should really get a shower, get dressed, and find Jareth. He said he would have answers for her. There was only one question now: To wear her ring, or to leave it upstairs?

With a defiant tilt of the chin she huffed. It was a habit she had gotten from her mother, dramatic and slightly over-done. She loved it. She fisted her hand again, her decision made. It was her ring, she was going to wear it.

* * *

Four nails, sawdust, and a dubious hammer lay at the foot of the stairs. It had been rusty, and so Maeve had asked the general supplies shop in town to bring her a new one, one used for horseshoes. It held no iron, she recalled. Her mother had always carried two, she told Jareth, one for horseshoes, one for menial chores.

He was fairly sure he had been found out. It had been clear enough when she handed him the silver-stud nails rather than the usual iron-made ones, and the heavy work gloves. This business with the hammer was the final straw, so to speak.

"So, you know what I am." It was a statement made as he fitted the new wood under the slope of the old stairs. She didn't even stop humming as she dusted.

"I've been around and about fer a while, lad, if I couldn't tell yer kind from ours I'd be a sure fool." She continued dusting, but the humming fell silent for a while, before she spoke again. "Ye had yer question, lad, now I'll have mine. I notice ye and the lass wear the same rings. What is she to ye? Can ye recall?"

"I hate to admit it…" the hammer fell again and again, nailing the new board in place. "But I was aware of everything when I came to you. I just didn't wish to be tossed out. I assume that since I'm still here, despite what you know, it wasn't an eminent danger to begin with."

"Och, now, I wouldn't be sayin' that. I would have tossed ye out the first morning', had ye not been wearing the same ring as Miss Sarah, and had she not recognized ye too, to some extent. I like the lass. And ye tried te dodge the question, lad." She stopped her dusting, all pretenses of occupation now gone as she fisted her hands on her ample hips. "I'll ask ye again. Are ye wed? Or intended at the least?"

Jareth fought the possessive, wolfish smile, and knew he lost when her face lit up. Sarah was going to flay him, neck to navel and a few other choice places.

"Well which is it, wed or intended? And why didn't ye tell me? I've been cleanin' two rooms when by all rights-- I didn't mean toe keep ye two away from each other. 'Tis proper that ye share a room, now." She tossed his a saucy wink, and the breath left Jareth's lungs in a whoosh.

"No, Miss-- Sarah wouldn't--"

But she carried onward like a steamroller. "And there has te be a party, at least a small one. Just a few folks. Not a lot, mind ye, Sarah was only here a day or so afore ye showed up. Still, there will be many a man whose heart is broken, I'll tell ye that much…"

"No, Maeve, I cannot allow--"

"Not at all, lad, not at all. I insist. But I'll not be inviting that rogue Duncan… Cain, pardon. Now, he was just too interested. And for one of your kind I have to say he is entirely without tact. But he has always been that way, yes indeed. Insisting on having his way, hiring the finest scholars with not a dime to his name. Leave the veils alone, I told him…" She had put down the feather duster, and was tugging on her hat in just a fast moment.

She was almost out the door, and Jareth's brain was caught between fury at the woman's bossiness, the urge to shake her, his fear of Sarah's reaction, and his questions about Duncan and the veils. But before he could form a thought or a question on any of those topics, Maeve had stepped out into the watery sunlight and shut the door smartly behind her.

With a few choice Goblin curses Jareth dropped his hammer and looked around the room. He gathered his tools and placed them on the side table by the long couch, careful to stay far away from the rust-covered hammer. The last thing he needed was iron-poisoning on top of the rest.

He heard the water turn off upstairs, and wanted to swear all over again. Now he was alone with Sarah, and he had to explain that the Underground had married them with or without their agreement, and that now she was going to have to play fiancée before a gathering of her mortal peers. Jareth, King of the Fey, Keeper of the Labyrinth, and next in line for his father's seat in the High Council, was desperately thinking of a good hiding place.

He still hadn't thought of one when Sarah called down the stairs, asking Miss O'Fallon about breakfast.

"She isn't here. She left on… errands."

"Oh… well what was made for breakfast, then? I'm starving." She stepped out onto the stair landing, a smile on her lips, her half-dry hair spilling around her face in loose waves. She was wearing a simple sweater, some color between green and blue, her feet bare and her legs in dark blue denim. For a moment desire overwhelmed the urge to run away from the wrath he knew was impending.

"She… I don't think she made anything." He looked at the light coming in through the windows. It was bright out now, after yesterday's storm. Bright and cold.

"Hey! You fixed the stairs!" Her smile made him smile, and Jareth could almost make himself believe that it would be well, that she would be reasonable-- who was he lying to? This was _Sarah_.

"Yes, I did… but that does not mean that you should be jumping on it like you are. You seem rather pleased with yourself this morning, Precious thing. Is there something you aren't telling me?" His tone was regal, and Sarah laughed.

"No, not really. Just in a good mood. I remembered some more about the Labyrinth. Hoggle and Ludo, and Sir Didymus… I remembered the tunnel." She continued down the stairs. "All along I thought the characters in my books were imaginary. And they aren't, not really. The names are different, but they really exist. Don't they?"

She stopped on the third-from-the-bottom stair so she could meet his eyes. He took two steps forward, wrapping an arm around her waist and smirking. "They do, as much as you and I."

"Good…" Her eyes went a little hazy, and she leaned forward, her eyes fixed on his… A breath away she jerked upright, retreating a step before sitting. "So… Did you ever solve the mystery of the rings? Where they came from, who sent them…?"

"About that…"

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" She sighed, and watched a thousand emotions flare across his suddenly expressive face. Has he become easier to read, or was she just becoming more adept at discovering his moods?

"How would a mortal say it? I doubt, in your mind, 'til death do us part' will come soon enough." To her credit, she didn't kill him in that instant. But it was clear in her face that she was seriously considering it.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I know this chapter was really short, and a little darker, and that some of you will never forgive me… but I wanted you to see a little bit better into Duncan's character, before now he has seemed pretty meek and harmless. All right, please review, fast! **

**Sarah is probably going to tear Jareth a new one, so to speak, so I'd stick around for the next chapter if I had to wait in front of the computer screen. Depending on how many reviews I get, I may actually post it tomorrow morning.**

**Until then,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	13. Chapter 13

**I LOVE MY REVIEWERS!! Thank you for your support, because you replied so quickly and with such enthusiasm this chapter is for you…. No recap this time, go back and read it for yourself!!**

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**Disclaimer:**** I do not own 'the Labyrinth' the movie, that would be Jim Henson Company… I don't look like I would come up with something that brilliant do I? Hey… wait… don't answer that… Oh, don't own aspirin either.**

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**My Kingdom for an Aspirin:**

"How would a mortal say it? I doubt, in your mind, 'til death do us part' will come soon enough." To her credit, she didn't kill him in that instant.

Oh, how she wanted to… She remembered tings, yes, with clarity. Was this just another game? She was sure of it, now. She was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, why would he be here, working to earn his keep, if it was anything but serious to him? And why didn't he just snatch her up and carry her off like he had Toby?

Could he do that still?

"So… you're telling me… that we're married?" Her voice was breathless, slightly shrill. Her pale face was almost beet red and her hands were balled into fists. Jareth winced, and she wanted to punch him in the face. Handsome, manipulative bastard!

"Sarah… it wasn't me. Please, let me explain."

"Let you explain? By explain you mean let you lie to me and twist things until you're innocent, right?" She took a calming breath, reminding herself that she was no longer a bratty teenager. At least she hadn't spouted the phrase 'that's not fair' yet. "I really don't think this is the time to talk about it, Jareth. Maybe later we can sit and discuss it when Miss O'Fallon is cooking dinner."

There, that sounded rational enough. Even though she knew that by that time she would be packed and flying back to America, leaving this lying, heartbreaking Fey here.

"Sarah, there is no time for that. Miss O'Fallon found out about the marriage, and she took it upon herself to throw us a betrothal party." His words fell flat when he saw the murder in her eyes. She reached out and took hold of the rust-covered hammer, weighing it in her hands. Oh, she wanted nothing more than to hit him in the head until he understood what he had just done…

"And how did she 'find out about the marriage' before _me_?" Her tone ended on a shriek, her voice shrill in outrage.

"Now, Sarah-mine, I know what you're thinking about that hammer, and I must tell you it wouldn't help any to--"

"Not you, you lying, philandering, overbearing under-handed, sneaky bastard king! I have every intention of _hurting_ rather than _helping_ you. I think I'm tempted to put this somewhere the sun wouldn't shine if you sun-bathed nude!" His eyebrow rose in question, and she screeched, dropping the hammer to the rug, uncaring, throwing her hands into the air. "I'm so tired of you!"

"Sarah--"

"No! I dream of you, and I'm crazy about you. I wake up, and I want to wring your neck! I remember you and you terrify me. There isn't a single moment in the day where I don't think _something_ about you, and I'm tired of it!" She moved past him on her way back up the stairs, her temper running so hot she thought she would self-combust.

It only got worse when he reached out and clasped her to him, drawing her flush against the planes of his body, his hands tight on her upper arms, those eyes now deep blue peering into her own. She would have been captivated with their depth if she wasn't trying to struggle free.

"Let me go you man-handling--" Her sentence was punctuated with a good shake from the man she was describing.

"Enough adjectives, Sarah. Let me get this straight, hmm? Stop wriggling damn you, if I want you free you'll be free, and not until then! All right now…" He took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. She had no idea that there was a desire in him now that he hadn't felt in centuries. There was nothing more appealing than Sarah in a fit of rage.

Sarah cursed under her breath, but stood perfectly straight. She had no illusions that Jareth had developed patience in their time apart.

"You remember me, and.. Fear me?"

"You were a complete ass and I'm sure you know it! Of course I was afraid of you, you kept dropping me into peril and threatening me with the Bog of Eternal Stench. It doesn't exactly inspire love, devotion, and the rest of the warm-and-fuzzies I'd prefer to feel." Sarah jerked, trying to tear free of his hold. It only caused his hands to tighten on her shoulders and a small smirk to lift the corner of his mouth. She bit her lower lips to fight the urge rising in her to kiss his.

"Ah… well, that's understandable. I rule everything in the Labyrinth. It is a living thing, and we have an understanding. You'd be a fool not to fear that type of power." Sarah rolled her eyes, and Jareth shook her to return her focus to him. "What did you mean, you were 'crazy about me' in the dreams we shared?"

"Really Jareth? I don't feel like boosting your overblown ego right now."

"Sarah, I would speak if I was you. And I would do it before the large man holding me like a toy got too frustrated." His eyes narrowed, the blue sharpening with grey. So, Sarah realized, belatedly, his eyes were what she had been reading. They changed with his moods… It distracted her from her anger enough that she answered, honestly.

"It means I want you, I'm attracted to you. That first night, when I thought it was all a dream I almost asked you…" She blushed, and glared. She hated being embarrassed. "Look, you're an attractive jerk. So what?"

"Sarah, if I told you that I needed to go back to the Underground, and I needed you to come with me, would you come?" His voice was soft, methodical. It as the voice of the Goblin King as much as it belonged to the short-haired vagabond carpenter, and it made her want to agree and deny him at the same time.

"Do you need me to come with you, Jareth? Is everything there ok?" Her voice was worried, the tension in her from fear for her friends rather than anything else.

"No, Sarah, I'm not asking you to come back with me. Not now. But if I was asking, and I refused to tell you why, would you come?"

She shrugged, and nodded, knowing that she would. Now that she had her memories back, she wanted more than anything to go back and see the place she remembered. She would have gone back by now, she was sure, had she but recalled the place and knew the way.

"Do you recall what I said to you, the last time we spoke, before I came to your realm? Do you remember what you were offered?" He loosened his hold on her shoulders, and Sarah thought to run. But when she saw the tired, hopeful look in his eyes, she couldn't. She really couldn't.

"You offered me my dreams. You offered me… A place by your side. But I had to save Toby--"

"And you didn't ask me. Not one thing did you ask, you just took for granted that it was another piece to the game. I offered you your dreams, Sarah. If your brother being with his family in the Aboveground was what you desired, it would have been done. But pretty little mortal Sarah could never be wrong, and you were so sure that I was toying with you…" He looked bitter. It didn't fade as he lifted a now-callused hand to her cheek, caressing her soft skin.

"Why did you ask me those questions just now, Jareth?" Her voice was small, desire arcing in her, telling her to turn into his touch, to purr and let him make her feel thousands of things her innocent body was missing. She denied the urge, but only barely, with the tentative fingers of rage still clenched within her.

"I told you then, Sarah, what I needed from my Queen. Just fear me, love me, do as I say. I needed only respect, love, and the obedience a King needs from all of his people. Was it so much to ask for an eternity of love and devotion in return?" He released her, looking every inch the Kind, despite his humble, mortal clothes. His hair was shorter, falling just short of his shoulders, loose and silken. His flannel was buttoned, the sleeves rolled to show the power in his lean frame. His feet were encased in working boots, and his eyes were smoky, focused on her face.

"It was wrong for me, Jareth, I was too young--" His finger came up, silencing her, then tracing the soft fullness of her bottom lip. He caught the sigh that wanted to hiss out. It was still swollen from her biting it earlier.

"You fear me, in the memories. You respect the power I wield within the Labyrinth." Her eyes shut, slowly, and she tilted her neck to accommodate the height difference. "You desire me in the dreams we share. You hunger for me, even now. We are well matched, Precious One…" His lips descended slowly, and she met them. It was slow at first, soft, almost to spite the fury they both felt inside. Jareth was furious with his Father and the Council, and Sarah was just upset. It wasn't fair, that her choice was already made for her, her only real milestone left to her suddenly snatched away.

"It really isn't fair…" Her whispered words jarred them both back from the haze of comfort, the dream-like place they both fell into in each other's arms.

"No, but life never is. I asked you what your basis for comparison was, and I find that things are no more fair here than they are there." They drifted apart, Sarah to pick up the hammer she had wanted to use as a bludgeoning tool, Jareth to stare out the window. "You should think about it before dinner, Sarah."

"What?" The anger within her was dying slowly, steadily. It had done her no good to throw a temper tantrum. Jareth was just too good at quashing them.

"Before you think too hard about where to go, and what to do about the marriage we are both tied to, I suggest you recall my offer. It still stands. It always will." His back was to her, his posture rigid, his eyes skimming the garden and the gate, and the woods beyond.

"Why would you offer me my dreams? I've done nothing but reject you and accuse you." _Brilliant Sarah, now you act like a mature adult. Why don't you just go over there and beg him to take you with him to the Underground and be done with it?_ Her inner voice sounded suspiciously like 16-year-old Sarah, so she ignored it.

"You don't know, do you? Silly mortal girl… I would give you all of your dreams, everything you desired, and still beg to give you more."

"Why?"

"Because Sarah, having you beside me for all eternity would make all of my dreams come true, as well."

It was too much, she thought, suddenly dizzy. The prickling feeling skated over her skin, and her vision blurred. She was going to faint. She was having a panic attack… The ripples were there, in the base of her head. She retreated, turning her back to him and dashing up the stairs to the relative safety of her room. She didn't want him to see her faint again.

Jareth felt the ripples too, and the echoes of her distress. The connection, as thin as a single thread when he had first come Aboveground, was now alive, as strong as any bond could be. He didn't know what made it that way, what he had said or done to make her acknowledge the connection between them. But he found it really didn't matter.

He smirked, even as he heard her calling out to him. "Jareth?"

"Yes Sarah? Are you feeling all right?" He had climbed four stairs before she replied, with a weak laugh.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine. You should worry about yourself, I'm not done yelling at you. It will wait until after dinner though."

The relief he felt washed through him along with her humor. It felt like a caress on his soul. He didn't know what he had done, but he was grateful. Now if only his good luck streak would last through dinner… His head throbbed and he went in search of the bottle with the little white pills Maeve used when she had a headache.

"My kingdom for an aspirin…"

* * *

Upstairs Sarah sighed, looking out over the garden, and into the woods. What had caught his attention out here? She shook her head, looking out again. There were the flowers, to either-- Flowers to either sides o the door. And there was white stone like marble.. And the garden gate… Duncan had made the story about this house, she thought with a smile. It was nice of him. She wondered briefly if the old man would come to the engagement party.

She stretched again, reaching out to take up her pen. She had the strangest urge to write another book. Her editor would be pleased, she thought. And it would give her something to do until Maeve got home. She began writing, a smile playing on her lips.

The headache was growing in the base of her head, but it wasn't really bad, Just enough to make itself known. Ignoring it, she scratched out a title. '_How to tame a Goblin_'. Very nice idea. Too bad there weren't instructions for taming Kings. If she was really stuck being the Goblin Queen, she would need a manual of sorts.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I could have stretched this into the engagement party, but I have other plans for that… *wicked smirk* You'll just have to wait and see. Thank you again to all of those who read and reviewed, without you there would really be no point to putting this up day after day. You know how much energy it takes to make my lead characters do anything they don't want to?**

**Oh, and Sarah wasn't kidding, she really isn't through yelling at him. She is just waiting for a time when she is more likely to win. Smart figment of my imagination, right? Hehe… All right readers, until next time,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own it. If you think I do Gods bless, but I don't.**

* * *

_Sarah is informed of her newly acquired marital status, and she gives the Goblin King a taste of her very adult temper. Oh, and the score there is nowhere near settled. With a plot firmly in mind Sarah has retreated to her room to write a novel to let off steam._

* * *

**How to Tame a Goblin King:**

"I'm home, did ye tell Sarah about the dinner, then?" Maeve entered the cottage with a sunny smile and an armload of lilies and dark-green foliage. Three vases were laid out as Jareth watched in abject shock for not only the woman's carrying capacity, but her flower of choice. Lilies were for funerals, not for the celebration of a betrothal. Did humans know nothing?

He was about to demand just that when Sarah called out from the top of the stairs. "Oh, you're home Do you need anything carried in from the car?" She appeared at the top of the stairs then, dainty reading glasses perched on her nose. For some unexplainable reason, Jareth felt a surge of desire. The Fey never had impairments that caused them to wear glasses, and so the entirely mortal contraption held the allure of the unknown.

A rather vivid image of Sarah beneath him wearing only those glasses caused him to clear his throat, and make the offer before Miss O'Fallon could do it for him. "I'll go out and fetch them."

The cool air did the trick, and he felt the primal urge to claim being washed away slowly. It dawned on him rather quickly however that he wasn't wearing any shoes, and now his thick socks were soaked. Rather uncomfortable predicament.

He carried the four large bags rather easily once he managed their awkward shapes, and headed resolutely for the door. From just down the lane, on the edge of the woods he had come from only days ago, he saw someone with long white hair. He fought the urge to curse, and didn't think too long on what Duncan was stewing up. Heaven only knew what madness was going to come now.

When he entered the house he set down the unwieldy grocery bags and tugged off sodden socks. He tossed them with surprising accuracy into the laundry bin, and carried the bags barefoot into the kitchen, where Sarah in Maeve were already lost in conversation.

The two women were smiling, and Sarah seemed more at ease than she would ever be around hi alone. The older woman seemed to give her a sense of security that he just didn't offer.

"Oh Jareth!" Miss O'Fallon turned to him with bright eyes, almost clapping her hands in delight. "The lilies are perfect! They're Miss Sarah's favorite flower, ye were right." As Maeve winked at him, Sarah narrowed her eyes. He almost swallowed his tongue. He most certainly hadn't been spying on her, or learned the information at all by any means. And now Sarah was glaring at him with the power of a thousand suns, and it wasn't even his fault!

That's not fair. But that's the way it is.

He smiled. After all, Miss O'Fallon was only trying to help. "I know my Sarah, what can I say?" His tone was throaty, and Sarah blinked in surprise. He was vastly pleased to see that he had rattled her cage of calm. She wasn't the only one in foreign territory!

With a spark of determination in her deep green eyes, Sarah smiled at him. She crossed the distance, snuggling into his chest, talking to Miss O'Fallon from there. Jareth was suspicious of her game, but determined to play at it, and win. At least, until she spoke again. "He always was the sweetest thing when we were dating. Tell her what we did on our first date."

He was completely without words. Miss O'Fallon smiled at him encouragingly, putting away the groceries for the week. What would he tell her? He knew next to nothing about mortal courtship, and Sarah knew it. Well, what would he have done in the Underground for a first rendezvous?

_Give her expensive gowns and escort her to a goblin ball. If that fails, offer her a crystal with the power to make her dreams come true. Really believable, Jareth. _Even if Maeve knew of his kind, she wouldn't know he was the Fey King, and he felt no compulsion to tell her.

"We met in the park, like we always did. And then I… I took her out to eat." Was that something mortals did? Miss O'Fallon didn't raise a word of question or protest, so he continued. "After we ate--"

"Who paid?"

"Paid?" Jareth stopped short, unsure how to reply. He felt the instinctual reply rising, that of course he had paid, but he doubted very seriously Sarah would let that lie. She might have contradicted him, and right now he was enjoying holding her far too much to cause a squabble. "I… we, that is… we went to a quiet spot in the park by the bridge, and ate the picnic I had packed. We didn't go to restaurants for just that reason, you see. Sarah-mine tries to pay her share, and I don't like to fight."

He could feel Sarah's laughter as she smothered it in his shirt. He gave her hair a soft tug, and she only laughed harder.

"Well now that is a romantic thing, a picnic by the water. I'm glad yer smarter than ye pretend. Ye seemed like the type to demand she come and stay with ye, no matter her dreams and goals in the mortal realm. Yer type is infamous with that sort." She hadn't looked at him, and good thing. If she had seen the anger in his eyes she would have been terrified witless.

"Maeve, you know what Jareth is?" Sarah's voice broke Jareth from his anger, but only just barely. He was sure that he's be pondering the woman's offhand statement for hours to come.

"Indeed, Miss Sarah, the veil is thinnest here. We see and hear more of their kind than of ours sometimes. There was a time when mortals and Fey walked together of a moonlit night, and no one thought a thing about it." Her accent made it believable, though Jareth knew it had been before her time. She spoke of his Father's time, a time before the High Council, and before the separation of magic from the mortal world entirely.

Sarah fell silent again, and Jareth rocked slowly side to side, in a soothing motion. He could tell that despite her anger, he was lulling her into a state of drowsiness. He closed his eyes a moment, content. _If this is the reward at the end of a long, tiring day, I could withstand an eternity._

"So lass, are ye gonna wear something' special fer the dinner party tonight?" Maeve's teasing, motherly question made Sarah shoot upright, banging the top of her head and the bottom of his chin. They both drew away in pain.

"I hadn't thought about it, but I really should, shouldn't I?" Her voice was low and wicked, and while Miss O'Fallon laughed, Jareth wanted to surrender. He knew his feisty little mortal was planning something, and it would most likely be to make him uncomfortable or angry.

"Sarah, you are beautiful in anything you wear--"

"Come on, _Jar_." Her shortened use of his name rankled. He really hated it when people shortened his name. He was a King for goodness sake, his given name was shortened enough for them. He was seriously contemplating making everyone in his acquaintance refer to him by his full title. "You know sometimes I like to get dressed up. And this is a special occasion after all."

"Yes indeed, Miss Sarah. I' sorry, I wheedled my way in and made him tell me. He didn't really want the dinner at first either, but when I told him it would make ye happy, he really had no choice." She didn't offer him a wink with her lie this time, no, she was busy chopping carrots for the roast se was making for dinner.

Sarah looked at Jareth in question, and he inspected his cold, wet toes.

"That was considerate of you." It was a quiet concession, the only one he was likely to get until the battle was through. He accepted it with smile, his head tilted so the light from the kitchen glinted on his platinum hair.

"Always for you, precious thing."

* * *

Sarah shook her head, another habit of hers. She took an apple from the icebox, reminding herself to pay Miss O'Fallon a little extra for food at the end of this. The older woman had already given far too much without expecting anything in return.

Jareth was standing there, staring down at her with an emotion on his face that Sarah didn't want to inspect too closely. Not at all. Things would work out just fine if he stopped looking at her that way. Like she was the moon and the sun and all of the stars, and his world was dark without her.

She took a bite, knowing it was probably the only meal she was going to get until dinner, and the engagement party. It made her stomach rumble in protest, and Jareth laughed. Though it tied her stomach in knots, she glared at him to distract him from it. If he knew what his laugh, what the looks he gave her did to her… well she'd be trapped, wouldn't she?

She had a plan, and it was coming along well enough. Step one: If you present a Goblin-- or any other underground creature, it seemed-- with a challenge, they felt the need to meet it. Always present them a challenge to distract them.

Step Two: keep them guessing. She was going to make him fabricate their courtship, and the proposal, and a few other things. And she was going to do it wearing a dress that would bring him to his knees.

If she was going to be married to him for the rest of her existence, she was going to make sure she got the most out of it. Made him earn it. If the truth was known she didn't really have any qualms with him as a husband, as a lover and partner. No, it wasn't that at all. She had been looking for a man like him for years. It was just the frustration she felt having the choice taken from her that still irked her.

Until he proposed the right way, until he offered her a place beside him again, she was going to play at his own game. If it was selfish she didn't care. If it was greedy she didn't worry. It was what she wanted, and she had no illusions that he would deny her something she truly wanted.

She had become patient, and she had learned a few things about men. She was going to wear him down and make him chase her until she had him right where she wanted him. He already had her, after all. It was only…fair.

She smirked the entire way up the stairs and into her room. She was going to shower and perfume and soak before getting ready. It was going to be a very good night, one way or another. Jareth was many things, but he was no fool. He would catch on to the game in no time at all, and then… she shivered in anticipation.

* * *

The portal was there, right in front of him. Duncan could feel the energy tugging at him in frustration. Whether it wanted to consume him or rend him to pieces really didn't matter to him any longer. He extended his hand forward, and felt the pull. It was wild now, and hungry. It would only take a little magic to tear it open, to make his escape back into the Underground, to spite Jareth.

To return to Elyse.

Part of his mind knew that she was lost to him, had been for almost a century now. She had married that dark-haired, dark eyes Fey from the Southern Woods. He hadn't been able to keep her, he had driven her into the other man's arms… He would make amends, he swore, he would make her love him again.

Thinking about love made him think about what Maeve O'Fallon had said earlier. They were betrothed. The contest was over. She had submitted to Jareth, said the words that gave him power over her again. He had lost, and now his magic was lost to him as well, as they had agreed.

He cursed, twining his fingers in the invisible-yet tangible- energy. If he had only a little magic, only a little, he could escape this mortal plain and return to his rightful place. All of the research, all of his scholar's findings… they all told him the portal was going to close itself soon in response to his prodding. To keep the realm within safe, it was going to remove itself from this one, and never connect the two again.

"My darling lies over the ocean, my fair one lies over the sea. My darling lies over the ocean, O bring back my loved one to me…" His whispered song snapped the last thread of his control. He reached within himself, and tore, pulled at the very essence of the magic that the portal offered. He drew it within himself, so much more than he had anticipated. It swelled and surged there like waves cresting and crashing in a storm. It filled him completely.

He couldn't have guessed that Sarah hadn't said the words, couldn't have known that Jareth had not yet won the bet. And because of his desperation for magic, he drew in almost all of the portal's essence. The earth literally trembled.

His first urge, when he felt the last twine of his sanity snap, was to go through to veil and retrieve his lost love. But then a malicious, twisted sort of justice revealed itself to him, and he laughed hysterically at the fairness of it all.

Jareth took his love from him, banishing him to a mortal realm forever. Now he would take Jareth's love, leaving _him_ to suffer the separation here, in exile. Oh yes, yes, and he knew just how he would do it. The betrothal party…

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you for bearing with me there for a while, I'm going t be working at the Ren Faire so it's gonna take me a while to update my stories. Oh yeah, I said **_**stories**_** didn't I? I've taken the poll into consideration, and I've already started my second fanfic, since this one is drawing to a close. It's called 'Wicked Queen', so go ahead and check it out. Updates on that will only happen once a week though, it won't come as fast as this one. Mostly due to the work I mentioned earlier. Oh, by the way, review, review, review!!**

**Until next time,**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own it, not the characters or the Labyrinth itself. I own Maeve and Duncan… but do I really want to claim the rat? No, not really…**

* * *

_Sarah and Jareth are preparing for the dinner party Miss O'Fallon has decided to throw for their betrothal, and all within the cottage seems to have calmed. But you know what they say about the calm before the storm; and there is definitely a dark storm waiting just within the trees…_

* * *

**Games:**

It wasn't as terrible as he thought it would be. Jareth looked over the smiling faces for the three couples Miss O'Fallon had invited, and the man that ran the general goods store. It was clear she had set her cap for him, and the man really didn't seem to mind. He had been dreading this event all day, but now that it was upon him, he truly didn't mind their presence. He was a social creature over all, being a Fey.

There was only one thing that could have made this event more bearable, he thought to himself as he drummed blunt and now callused fingers across the table top. The guests had been present almost a half-hour, and still Sarah was nowhere to be found.

"If she isn't down soon I'm goin' te have te fetch her. I'm sure she lost track of time. She's a writer, ye see…" Maeve's fluttered excuses made Jareth shake his head in laughter.

"No Maeve, I'll go get Sarah." He stood, smiling at everyone with that tilted smirk he wore so well. "It would be rude to deprive the guests of their hostess. And, after all, I find myself most eager to spend a moment in private with my betrothed."

Most of the gusts laughed, others tittered about impropriety. All were ignored as he ventured up the steps, noting with a pleased smile that the fifth one no longer creaked. When he came to her door some little imp of madness urged him to open it without knocking. The worst that could happen was that she'd smear ink over the page…

But she wasn't in the bedroom, her notebook open and her strange ink-pen lying atop it. He heard her movements in the bathroom, and halted. As desperately as he wanted to go in aid her in her dressing, he knew that it would be too forward for her at this stage. Instead he stepped forward and knocked on the half-open door.

"Sarah?"

"Oh!" She tugged open the door with a smile, brush till in her hand. "I'm sorry I'm running late, I fell asleep in the tub… Can you zip the back of this for me?"

'This' was a black silk dress that ended mid-thigh and clung to all of her ample curves like the caress of a lover's hand. It was horribly indecent where he came from, but, judging from her innocent look, not so much so in the Aboveground.

After a moment of inspecting the 'zipper' he decided that it would work the same as the one on his pants. The fist time he had used one he'd turned green at the thought of the damage those metal teeth could do… but it seemed harmless enough to Sarah's bare back. _Bare back?_ It made his steady hands tremble when he realized that she was wearing nothing beneath the thin silken sheath. It made his hands crave to caress, his mouth water at the thought of her taste upon his tongue.

"Thanks, couldn't reach on my own." Her voice was so genuinely thankful that he wondered what had changed in her. She had been livid earlier when he had first told her about the betrothal party, but now she seemed… There was no way to describe her but happy. She looked like the cat who caught the canary.

While a part of him called out that she should be more than pleased at his attention, he was ever the realist, and knew there was a game afoot. Something was happening. Sarah wasn't done tormenting him. Oh if this was to be his torture, he wished she would do more. It was a gluttonous, masochistic thought, and he meant it. The sight of her skin had been an impossible temptation, and he had gone to lengths to make sure that he didn't touch even a small portion of her silken skin.

He stepped back and balled his hands into fists, looking around her room with more interest than it warranted. Anything to keep his eyes and hands where they belonged. The silent promise he made to himself was that when he brought his bride into the Underground he would enjoy stripping the clothes from her back inch by silken inch, following the fall of the material with lips and teeth and tongue until there was no question in her mind as to whom she belonged--

Those thoughts only made him more uncomfortable in her presence, and he darted to the closet in search of something--anything--to cover her from his eyes.

"Take this." Sarah spun from the mirror, mascara poised in the air, only one eye done. The jacket was dark green crushed velvet, and he was brandishing it like a warrior wielding his shield. Seeing that he had her attention he thrust it at her, and to stop it's collision course with her chest Sarah intercepted it with a laugh.

"It's not that cold downstairs, Jareth, I'll be fine without it. We can go down in a minute, just let me finish-"

"You don't need the war-paint nearly as much as you need the jacket. I swear to you." He looked to be in earnest, and somewhat desperate. Sarah barely contained the cheer of joy. Things were going according to plan.

"It's not 'war-paint', it's mascara, and I'm not wearing a jacket. Stop being silly." She finished the left eye, and then smiled at him in the mirror. "You know this is the second time since I was fifteen that I've worn any make-up? Couldn't look into a mirror for a long time, I thought I was going crazy." She hummed a little at the end of the sentence, as though it didn't bother her in the least.

"I remember." He spoke it gently, stepping up behind her. Sarah could practically feel his will bending as he lowered his chin, kissing the crown of her head. She closed her eyes a minute, smiling.

"Time's up, lad!" The call came from just outside the door, and Jareth cursed under his breath. Sarah heard, and giggled. With a final look in the mirror she called herself done, and offered her hand to Jareth. Like a knight would his princess, _or a king would his queen_, Jareth kissed the back of her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, ready to escort her down to the group below.

They opened the door to meet the amused faces of Miss O'Fallon and Mr. Riley, the owner of the general supplies shop.

"Well no lass, ye look as fine as a spring day." Miss O'Fallon smiled broadly, and pretended to cough, elbowing her companion. With an amiable grin Mr. Riley made his mouth snap shut and nodded in agreement. Jareth shot the man a glare for all the good it did, for the look went unnoticed.

"The group isn't too restless is it? I didn't mean to keep them waiting…" The two women began the walk down the stairs in quiet conversation, leaving Mr. Riley and Jareth to trail after them.

"So, that's the one fer ye, eh? Good choice indeed, boy-o. She's a smart one, from what Maeve has been telling me. An Author from America. Is that where you met?"

His mind blurred, and he tried to recall what Sarah had fabricated. "Yes?" He hurried his pace to catch the ladies, knowing his response was not only a question, but presented as such without confusion. Shouldn't he know where he met his fiancée? Well that was Sarah's tale to tell, not his…

* * *

The evening was wonderful, Sarah thought with a smile. They played the lute and fiddle, Mr. Riley and his pair. His son and daughter-in-law, who had come with him, worked at Ayden's Áit for money when the pub was in need of entertainment. As it often was, he confided with a smile.

The night was winding down when a female--Sarah felt terrible that she couldn't recall the woman's name-- leaned back dreamily and inquired as to how Jareth had proposed. Phase two, Sarah thought with a cat-like smile gracing her lips.

"Jareth why don't you tell her? After all, it was horribly romantic of you to plan and I don't want to ruin it by telling it wrong." She batted her dark lashes at him, and his eyes narrowed in immediate understanding. Oh good… it was still working… she would have to get that book published.

"Sarah-mine…" His tone was pleading, and still cool. Warning as well as plea? Oh he was talented with his tones. Sarah smiled, holding her ground. The group around her stood in her place.

"Oh yes, please do!" Females tittered and their male counterparts urged companionably. Seeing that he was neatly trapped, Jareth got a look in his eyes, one Sarah didn't trust for the life of her. He was plotting.

"Well, shall I show you instead?" They cheered, an he smirked, and Sarah's heart raced. Show them?

"We were at my home in the country, I'm from Ireland myself, to a point, and have a home here. At any rate, we were there in one of the higher tower rooms, and she was challenging me. She always has been the one to fight for control of everything."

"Don't all women?" A man quipped. Hi pretty young wife elbowed him neatly and smiled at what was proving to be a romantic little tale.

Jareth continued after the laughter subsided. "And then I knelt before her, and offered her a ring…" He eased down on one knee, his eyes meting and holding Sarah's. Her breath stilled in her chest, and he smiled. "And I said just this: 'Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.' And she denied me."

They made sounds of disbelief, and Sarah smiled. There were a few, a small few, who didn't know the words of the Fey, or hadn't placed Jareth as one yet. It all made sense in that moment, and they watched more raptly as the scene unfolded and the Fey remained on one knee.

Sarah, who thought he was done, was thusly caught off guard when he continued. "And then I took her hand in mine, and clarified to her what I asked. 'Fear for me,' I asked her, 'when I am ill or gone from your side. Love me, as I love you and no other. Do as I say, and I shall do as you say. I will be a slave to your will, as your joy is mine."

Sarah looked down on him, her eyes narrowing. He was turning her own game around on her!

"I looked deep into her eyes, those cruel, beautiful eyes, and I asked her. Sarah Williams, would you marry me and spend every moment, so long as we both shall live, at my side, as the one I love more than any other, and the queen of my heart?"

How dare he? He was trying to wring an agreement out of her! If he had meant it, if he had proposed to her using his words in private, she would have agreed. But he was forcing her hand, and she detested it. He was always, always controlling the situation somehow…

She was spared an answer as the door was wrenched off of it's hinges. The men moved collectively to urge their women-folk behind them, and the women tried to see and move around them to look upon the intruder. Few if any were surprised to see the only other Fey who lived among them, Duncan.

His face was devoid of color and expression, his white-blonde hair around him like a cloak. His eyes were mad, empty…and focused on Sarah. He advanced, and Jareth moved to stop him, placing himself between the advancing, powerful Fey, and the one he claimed as his own. And like a rag doll he was wrenched aside and flung out into the advancing night. Without his magic and trapped in a mortal shell, he was powerless to stop the darkness from stealing away his consciousness.

His last thought was for Sarah, her voice calling out for him as his cheek rested on the cool marble stepping stones, his hands grasping emptily at colored flowers. He heard a soft, female voice soothing him, and he knew he was sure for death. Because he knew that voice.

_Mother…?_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hello all, bare with me, I'm sorry it's taking so long to update but I swear that this story will be finished. It is drawing to a close, and that's hard for me, there are only 3 or 4 more chapters left before I have to let this one go where it will… Please read and review**

**-Chaotic Reverie**


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